One Perfect Knight

by Judith O'Brien

  On second thought, Peg was the worst possible person to call.

  "Oh, Lancelot," Julie moaned, tears in her eyes. Hadd she lost him forever? Would she ever see him again? "Please forgive me."

  Absorbed with her own misery, she did not hear the key in the door or the silent tumbling of the lock and knob.

  "Are you ill?"

  "Lancelot!" She stumbled over the bags to reach him, her arms outstretched. "I'm so…" Pulling back, she looked up at him. He was smiling as if he had just had the most pleasant day imaginable. Then she noticed the distinctive fragrance.

  "Pine cleanser?"

  He sniffed. "I thought I got most of it off."

  "Off what?"

  "My sleeve. Bill forgot to mention…"

  "Bill?"

  "Yes, well, I'll get to that in a moment. Is Excalibur safe?"

  Julie blinked, trying to follow his train of thought. "Yeah. It's in safekeeping at a museum."

  "Oh. What's a museum?"

  "It's a place with valuable stuff that no one can touch."

  "I see. So, then, how does a museum differ from Bloomingdale's?"

  "Well, Bloomingdale's is a department store, and… wait a moment. Where did you hear about Bloomingdale's?"

  "From Bill. He asked me if that's where I got my outfit. I explained I was from out of town, and he explained Bloomingdale's. He said it's an expensive store that most people just go into to look at their wares."

  "Who is Bill?"

  "From the shelter."

  "Oh, my God, you poor thing. Were you mugged? Did you get hungry and get taken to a shelter? I knew I should have taken better care of you."

  "No, no! Please, Julia, you're mistaken. I worked At the shelter. I volunteered. I saw it from the window of the cab and asked the driver to stop. I've been there for hours."

  Julie was stunned. "What did you do there?"

  "Mostly I got into people's way. But I also helped serve lunch, make up the cots for tonight, and open cans for dinner. Oh, and I scrubbed toilets."

  "Scrubbed toilets?"

  "That's why I smell like cleanser. Bill didn't warn me about how they flush, and, well… he assumed I knew already."

  All she could do is look up at him, this noble man who had been torn from all he knew, from everything that he had worked a lifetime to achieve. And his immediate response, before the full impact of his own predicament could be fully absorbed, was to reach out and help others.

  "What made you do that?"

  He glanced over her head, formulating his thoughts. "The name drew me in at first. Avalon."

  "Avalon?"

  "The mystical island in Camelot, a place to heal, to be soothed and restored to health. I wasn't thinking clearly, just staring out the window. And then I saw something familiar, a word, a place. So I got out. There were people milling about, waiting to enter. I looked at their faces and saw something else familiar-I saw fear, desperation, a hunger that went beyond the needs of the body. I saw a hunger of thc soul. In short, I recognized myself."

  "Did you speak to anyone other than Bill?"

  "I did. And for the first time since being here, f understood. They are good people who are unable u cope in this society. For some, it's temporary, a stroke of bad luck or a house fire. A few were plagued by ill health and lost employment. And some had lived their entire existence just beyond the walls of this place, opi the fringe. One or two were angry and bitter, but the rest were resigned to their fate. They have accepted it not willingly but without a battle."

  "That is the way you feel here," she stated.

  "No. I was beginning to feel that way, but I refuse to submit." Gazing directly into his eyes, she saw the real Sir Lancelot, the man she had known in Camelot. "We must find Malvern. No matter what the cost, we must find him before he finds us, and before he finds a way back to Camelot. If we do not prevent him from going back, the destruction he will cause will be absolute. And if we allow him to get accustomed to this place, it is only a matter of time before he succeeds here."

  "I understand what you're saying," she replied, phrasing her words carefully. "But I have to confess, as frightening as Malvern is, I really don't believe he can do too much damage. Without Excalibur, he is powerless. And he will not get Excalibur."

  He ran a hand through his hair. "I disagree."

  "Lancelot, he is one man in a city of millions, in a world of billions. Believe me, there's only a limited amount of damage he's capable of here."

  "Lady Julia, I spoke to people today who are desperate. There are many of them, I understand. And unlike the people who live in buildings such as this one, with jobs such as yours, they are searching for someone to lead them, to change their fate. Almost anyone will do. Malvern is a clever man, but what is more important is that he is vindictive. He will promise them anything to follow him, and he may even succeed in granting just enough to keep them following."

  "Really, Lancelot, I don't think he could possibly. .: "

  "Yes, he can. And mark my words, he will. I suspect that once he gets his bearings, he will indeed seek out followers. I believe he will go to shelters very much like Avalon and insinuate his way into their lives, inspire them with false hopes. And then he will be very dangerous indeed."

  "He's only one man."

  "He may be only one man. But tell me, has there never been a time or place where one man made a spectacular difference? For either good or evil?"

  She paused, for he was absolutely right. History was filled with individual names that changed the world, from Julius Caesar to Oliver Cromwell. There was Buddha, Jesus, and Joan of Arc. Napoleon, George Washington, and Lord Nelson. Marx. Lenin. Churchill and Gandhi. Of course, Stalin and Hitler.

  Even on a smaller scale, one person could wield a tremendous capacity for good, touch millions without armies or governments, like Jonas Salk, Harriet Beecher Stowe, or Mother Teresa. Evil, too, could exist on a lesser scale, like Jim Jones.

  When it came to Malvern, it wasn't a question of whether he would be good or bad. The only uncertainty was to what level his evil would rise, and that depended on how successfully he could sway others.

  The fact that he had been able to persuade Arthur to distrust not only Lancelot but his own beloved wife was powerful proof of his skill.

  Lancelot was right. Malvern was dangerous in this or any other time.

  "Where do we even begin?" Julie said.

  "I've been thinking about that. The first thing we need to do is get some help on our side, convince some key people that Malvern is real and that he is dangerous."

  "Oh, Lancelot. Do you know how impossible that will be?"

  "You believe. And you are from this time."

  "Yes, but I actually went to Camelot. I don't think…" She stopped for a moment.

  "Lady Julia?"

  "I just had a thought. Peg's nephew has a comic book-um, a book with lots of illustrations-that apparently shows us."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Peg called me today, greatly concerned because she thinks you are pretending to be Lancelot."

  "Pretending?"

  "Well, Yes. It seems this comic book doesn't only tell your story, but it contains drawings that look just like you and me."

  "I see," he said thoughtfully. "Therefore, Peg assumes I am a pretender, and an insane one at that."

  "I'm afraid she does. But the main thing is that whoever drew the pictures, well, maybe he was in Camelot when we were. How else could he have sketched us so well?"

  "Interesting."

  "And also, there is this weird bookstore downtown that specializes in the occult. You know, things that can't be explained by science."

  "That covers just about everything."

  "I'm beginning to think so. Maybe we could start there."

  "Good. And I'll see if Bill just might be open to us. After all, he chose the name of the shelter. On some level, he must have sensed a truth in Avalon."

  "Yeah, but as nice as Bill may be, what good could he
do?"

  "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But he knows other shelters and knows how the entire system works. Malvern is without resources, no coins or a place to stay. I would think that at some point, he will need help."

  Suddenly, she was exhausted. Glancing down, she remembered the shopping bags. With a grin, she looked up at Lancelot, who was still mulling over his thoughts.

  "Speaking of help," she began, "first, I want to thank you for helping me out this morning in the meeting."

  He blinked, focusing his attention on her words, then he smiled. "Oh, yes. Shine-All, the all-purpose magical sword cleaner."

  "Really, Lancelot. You saved my job."

  He gave her a small bow. "My pleasure, m'lady."

  "So I got you new clothes. I mean, just so that you won't feel as out of place as I did in Camelot wearing a paper crown and a bib."

  "Is what I'm wearing now equivalent to what you wore in Camelot?"

  "Close, but not nearly as humiliating. Anyway, here."

  One by one, she opened the bags and pulled out the clothes, and one by one, he touched them with suspicion at first, then with growing interest.

  "Yes. Bill wore something like this. And a man downstairs had on one of these blouses."

  "Yeah, well. Men's tops are usually called shirts. You'll catch on."

  He raised an eyebrow. "I have an idea."

  "Yes?"

  "Perhaps if I clothe myself in some of these garments, we can go to that shop you mentioned before?"

  "Great idea! A place like Cauldrons & Skulls is bound to be open late."

  "Cauldrons & Skulls? What a charming name." Within fifteen minutes, they were on their way to the Village, in hopes of finding someone, anyone, who might believe in Camelot.

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  A had been another slow day.

  Sam sighed, wondering how much longer they could afford to stay in business. Luckily, Sam and his brother, Mel, owned the place free and clear. It had been in the family for more than a hundred years. Had they been renters, forget about it. In fact, they'd been offered incredible sums of money for the building. A very famous movie star wanted to open a restaurant, and all the Brillman brothers had to do was snap their fingers and they would be wealthy men.

  They hadn't mentioned that offer to Mel's wife, Tina. She never did understand the store, claiming it gave her the creeps. Funny thing, the money it brought in-or used to bring in-sure didn't give old Tina the creeps. She was able to spend it just fine, thank you.

  His sister-in-law, Tina, was the main reason Sam had never married. Mel seemed to get along with her, but that was because Mel did everything Tina told him to do. And he spent an unnatural amount of time looking at old books and attending estate sales and auctions to add to their stock. Poor schmuck Mel.

  He looked around the place critically at the beaded curtains and the brick walls painted black and the stuffed owl positioned over the doorway. There were shelves of oversized books, rows of dogeared paperbacks, an entire trunk filled with used tarot cards, and two glass cases to display the more exotic items. Even from across the store, he could see a layer of dust clinging to everything, including the owl.

  "Mel, did you dust this morning?" he called out to his brother in the back room. Mel, as usual, was engrossed in another ancient manuscript. Always the egghead. Sam was the one with the artistic streak, the decorating flair.

  He glanced with satisfaction at the gold unicorn painted on black velvet.

  In the mid-seventies, when they founded the shop, it had seemed like such a good idea. The time had been ripe; everyone was exploring the mystical and unknown. Plus, they already had the space. The building had been their grandfather's old pickle store, and sometimes, when it was damp, he could still catch a whiff of garlic and vinegar and mustard seed.

  But now Cauldrons & Skulls seemed as outdated as the pickle shop had been almost twenty-five years before. It seemed the more financially secure New Yorkers became, the less inclined they were to worry about the good old things, like casting spells and reading about lost worlds.

  What they needed was a good recession. Back in the fall of eighty-seven, the Wall Streeters were lined up six deep in the little store, avoiding one another's eyes as they bought their occult books and essence of spider in cobalt blue jars.

  Who knows, maybe that's what turned the economy around. You get enough of those Morgan Stanley and Merrill Lynch guys casting spells on each other, and next thing you know… well, whatever.

  The clock-made from a genuine human skull read nine-fifteen. No sense staying open any longer. Wasn't as if a flood of customers would suddenly descend like locusts.

  That reminded him. On his way over to the front door, round hoop keychain dangling, he double checked on the dried locust supply.

  And then he saw them. Customers. Clean-cut ones, too. Not like some of the oddballs who had been coming in lately. The man was large, dressed like one of those slick Gap ads but with longer hair. And the woman was a slender blonde. Actually, they were a darned good-looking couple, in a Hamptons-forthe-weekend, trust-fund sort of way.

  He opened the door, the bells jingling overhead, and eyed them once more before stepping aside.

  "Howdy, folks," he greeted somewhat incongruously.

  "Hi," said the woman, edging toward the guy as if the store made her uncomfortable. "I'm not sure if you can help us…"

  The guy cut in. "Excuse me, sir. But do you have any books on the lore and legend of Camelot?" He had a vague accent, British probably, although there was a slight lilt.

  "Ah, Camelot. Sure, sure." Then he stopped midstride. "Funny, I had you guys pegged as love potion customers.

  The girl smiled nervously, and the man just nodded, as if Sam had pointed the way to the shower curtains or drill bits. "Interesting," said the tall man. "And how is your potion done here? In Canes-" The girl jabbed the guy in the side. "Where I come from, we use herbs from the forest bed."

  "Oh, yeah? I'll have to give that one a whirl sometime. We're purists here, none of that vegetarian stuff. Our recipe calls for a hummingbird wing stock, and we take it from there. Anyway, the stuff you're looking for is just above the crystal balls:" Sam pointed to an eye-level shelf. "Camelot is very big these days, what with the Kennedy auctions and all."

  The dark man seemed perplexed, and he heard the woman whisper, "I'll explain it to you later, Lancelot."

  "Your name is Lancelot?" Sam asked, grinning. "Man, your parents must have had one heck of a sense of humor!" Then he peered more closely at Lancelot. "Hey, want to hear something wild?"

  "Sure." The woman shrugged, glancing up at her companion.

  "You're an absolute dead ringer for the Myrddin Lancelot. You ever see that classic? Damn, we just sold the one we had a week or so ago-it was in primp condition. It's a comic book from the late thirties. Hadn't seen one for about fifteen, twenty years-almost impossible to get hold of one. Wait a minute… mind if I get my brother, Mel, out here?"

  Before either could answer, Sam called over his shoulder, "Yo, Mel! Come on out here-you won't believe this!"

  The three of them waited for a few moments, and there was no response. Lancelot began to pull out a few volumes from the Camelot shelf, paging through with his back turned away from the other two.

  "I know how to get him out here. Watch this." In a voice just above a conversational tone, he said, "Wow, Mel. Can't believe this. What did you say, it's from the tenth century?"

  Within seconds, Mel appeared from the back room, a jeweler's glass stuck over one eye. "What did you say? Tenth century?" Then he blinked at Julie. "It's the Crone of Camelot! You're not tenth century-you're probably fourth, fifth max."

  "What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

  "I mean, she's lying about her age."

  "Nah, Mel. What are you talking about? The Crone of Camelot was a hideous old hag. You telling me this lady here is the Crone of Camelot?"

  "When she is Lady Julia, Sam." He
rolled his eyes, the jeweler's glass making that one eye appear Cyclops-like. "Nice to meet you, Lady Julia." Mel smiled, extending his hand. "And my oaf of a brother probably failed to introduce himself, but he's Sam, the black sheep of the-"

  At that moment, Lancelot looked up from the book.

  "Sir Lancelot!" Mel stammered.

  Lancelot smiled. "Have we met?"

  "Myrddin's Lancelot! I don't believe this! Sam, where did you get these guys?"

  "Um, we just walked in," Julie said. "We're really interested in Camelot anything you have. Especially, well ..." Again, she glanced uncertainly at Lancelot, and he nodded for her to continue. "Especially anything you may have on how to get there."

  Sam and Mel said nothing, and then a sort of sad resignation passed over their faces. They exchanged shrugs, then Sam spoke. "Listen. You two seem like very nice people. And your physical resemblance to the illustrations in the Camelot book are fantastic, really fantastic. But let's face it, there isn't a way to Camelot. There probably never was a Camelot to begin with."

  "I don't understand." Julie crossed her arms protectively. "I thought, of all places, here you would ..: "

  Halting, she cleared her throat. "How can you have a shop like this and not believe in the magical?"

  "Aw, come on," Mel said, finally removing the jeweler's glass. "We do this for fun, pure fun. Just because we have a painting of a unicorn on the wall doesn't mean we have a live one tied up in the backyard."

  "Then you're running this place under false pretenses." Julie felt like crying. Somehow, the thought that at least two other people would believe them had become very important to her, almost vital. "Look at us. We're really Lancelot and Julia. We're not pretending."

  "Lady, we were just playing along. It's all a gag," Mel explained. "We had a couple in here a few weeks back, claimed they were Rick and Elsa from Casablanca, both in trench coats. He looked a bit like Bogart, but she was a godawful Bergman. We played along with them, too. But we all knew this was tongue-in-cheek."

  "This isn't fair. You were lying to us, then, making us believe you could help just by the nature of this store," Julie continued. Lancelot remained silent, just looking at the men.