Father Morgan looked nonplussed, then smiled slightly. “ Camelot,” he said, seeming amused. Joby felt himself flush. “As in King Arthur’s Camelot?”
“Yes! That’s it!” Joby blurted out, his embarrassment swept away in excitement. Joby had known the priest would know! His clothes, this building! Where else could it all have come from? “Have you been there? Do you know King Arthur?”
“May I ask what inspires this unusual query?” Father Morgan asked wryly.
At a loss, Joby timidly admitted that he didn’t know what a query was.
“Forgive me,” Father Morgan smiled, “I’ve embarrassed you. All I meant was, why are you asking these . . . rather remarkable questions?”
“Well . . . because . . .” Joby looked to Benjamin for help. Their quest was a secret. Somehow it had not occurred to him that anyone might ask why he wanted to know about Camelot. Joby felt more foolish by the minute.
“No matter,” the priest assured him. “I was merely curious. Regrettably I have never been to Camelot, nor do I know how to get there.”
“But . . . I thought—Isn’t this a castle?” Joby asked in dismay. He pointed up at the kingly statue high above the tortured man. “Isn’t that Arthur?”
The priest followed Joby’s gaze, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joby, but this is just a church, the product of an unconscionable number of collection plates; and that is just a statue.”
“But . . . it’s of Arthur, isn’t it?”
The priest shook his head again. “It’s just a bishop, Joby. A very dead bishop, at that.” He offered Joby a sympathetic smile. “I wouldn’t want to dampen your faith in Camelot, child, but I’d be lying to pretend you might find it here.”
“Oh,” Joby said, feeling terribly deflated.
“Was that your only question?” Father Morgan asked.
Joby looked at Benjamin, then shook his head, took a deep breath, and asked, “What’s the best way to fight the devil?”
Father Morgan’s brows arched high above his pale, almost icy blue eyes. “I must say, Joby, you are full of surprising questions.”
But Joby hardly heard him. Those eyes! Those pale blue eyes! He knew them now! The silver-shot hair, the regal bearing! Of course!
“Merlin?” he whispered.
Father Morgan seemed surprised, then smiled shrewdly. “Do you mean me? Joby, what would a wizard be doing in a church, disguised as a priest?” Then he winked, and Joby knew that Father Morgan was Merlin, though why he should be disguised as a priest, he could not imagine.
“But if you want advice about fighting the devil,” Father Morgan continued, “perhaps a priest is of more help than a wizard anyway. God’s own Son once fought the devil, Joby. Did you know that?”
“God had a Son? . . . Like me?” Joby asked incredulously.
Father Morgan nodded.
“A kid whose dad was God?” Joby pressed, finding the idea almost absurd.
“Yes,” Father Morgan said, unsmiling.
Joby shook his head, trying to imagine his own dad being God.
“His name was Jesus, Joby; and one time He was all alone in the desert for forty days without anything to eat. Forty days! Imagine how hungry He must have been! So the devil offered Him some bread. Just one harmless piece of bread. What could be wrong with that, eh, Joby?”
Joby shrugged. He couldn’t see anything wrong with taking a piece of bread from someone, especially if you were starving.
“But Jesus wouldn’t take it, Joby.” Father Morgan smiled, driving into him with those strange blue eyes, compelling him to listen, to hear something between the words, behind his disguise. “As hungry as He was, He denied Himself even a simple piece of bread, lest the devil use that little weakness somehow to gain power over Him.” Father Morgan smiled down on Joby. “Think on that, child. To be faithful at all, you must be absolutely faithful. Nothing less will do. If you truly want to beat the devil, you must be prepared to deny any hunger he might use to breach your defenses.” He ruffled Joby’s hair, which seemed such an un-Merlinish gesture, that Joby almost pulled away. “Are you that brave, Joby?”
Joby nodded gravely, and Father Morgan laughed. “Ah, Joby. I’m rather glad Father Crombie wasn’t here. I’d hate to have missed this chance to talk with you. I am sure you’ll give the devil quite a run for his money. Just remember to be very, very good.”
“I will,” Joby promised, bothered by a sense that, despite his smiles, Merlin was angry with him for not trying hard enough to be perfect.
“Good lad. Was that all? Or are there still other marvelous questions weighing on that noble mind of yours?”
“What is that?” Joby asked, pointing to the statue of the suffering man.
Father Morgan turned toward it, though his eyes remained cast down, and his smile fled before a frightening expression that made Joby think he should not have asked.
“That,” said Father Morgan very sternly, “is the price of failure. Remember that as well, Joby, if you intend to fight the devil.”
“Damn,” Lucifer cursed, the clerical robes dissolving around him like smoke as he returned to his office. That had been far too dicey. Who’d have thought the boy would recognize him? The boy’s memory of that dream should have been virtually gone after so much time—had it not been for that useless wag Lindwald. But Lucifer had to congratulate himself on turning that surprise neatly to his own advantage. Allowing the boy to suspect “Father Morgan” of being Merlin had doubtless ensured that his poisonous advice would be taken all the more to heart. Lucifer smiled. God played a nimble game, but this time Lucifer would be nimbler.
Williamson’s surveillance was proving more valuable than Lucifer had expected. Heaven forbid they had actually gotten to that priest, Crombie. He was precisely the kind of interference Lucifer did not need. Still, Lucifer did not want to be pressed into playing foot soldier again. Even such fleeting personal exposure to the degrading squalor of mortal creation left him feeling unclean for weeks. That’s what chaff like Williamson and Lindwald were there to spare him. It seemed Kallaystra would have to find him a suitable priest as well as the new fifth-grade teacher, and swiftly. Things were not going at all as he’d anticipated, not that he would tell her that. Lucifer did not take kindly to being caught off guard, and liked even less having others know of it.
Frank could hardly believe his ears! “Was this Ben’s idea, Joby?” he asked, trying to hide his irritation.
“No,” Joby replied hesitantly. “I just want to go to church with him. That’s all.”
“Did Ben’s parents suggest this?” Frank persisted.
“No,” Joby said again. “Are you mad at me? . . . Benjamin said you’d be happy.”
“We’re not mad, Joby,” his mother intervened. “I think it’s nice you want to go.”
“Miriam,” Frank began, but she gave him no opening.
“We’re just surprised, dear. It’s not something boys your age usually want to do, and . . . well, we’re kind of curious what you hope to find there.”
Joby shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know. It just sounds interesting, and . . . and Benjamin’s my best friend, and he goes. . . . So . . . I just thought I’d like to go with him tomorrow. . . . Can I?”
“Yes, of course, if you want to,” Miriam said before Frank could open his mouth.
He nearly groaned. Could she be falling back into this madness too?
“Miriam,” he said, “I think we should talk about this.”
“Me too,” she answered crisply. “Joby, may I have a moment alone with your dad, please?”
Joby nodded, and left the room looking like a boy in trouble, no matter what they’d told him.
Frank spoke up even as the door latched behind their son.
“Miriam, I—”
“You’re scaring him to death,” she cut him off, “and making him feel ashamed, which, as I recall, is why we decided to keep him away from churches to begin with.”
“I didn’t mean to scare him. You know
that. It’s just—”
“I know what it’s just,” she interrupted again. “You must have explained it to me a hundred times before we were married. And . . . okay, I bought into it. But—”
“But what?” Frank cut in. “You think I was wrong now? Is that why you’re mad at me? Come on, Miriam. They’ll turn him into a neurotic little basket case who spends all his time apologizing to God just for existing; or switches his conscience off altogether just to get them out of his head. Is that what you want? Wait ’til he hits adolescence and they start trying to unman him with all that crap about—”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” she snapped. “Afraid they’ll unman your little stud? He’s nine, Frank! Nine! Not nineteen. And he’s the most rambunctious, manly little war chief in the neighborhood, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides,” she said more quietly, “the church isn’t always like it was for you. My father’s faith was at the heart of everything I loved about him; and . . . yes . . . sometimes I miss it too.”
“Why’d you stop going, then?” he asked flatly, torn between growing resentment and a sudden twinge of guilt.
“I guess . . . I guess it just didn’t matter to me as much as you did.”
“And now?” he asked, struggling with a host of confusing emotions.
“Is it still a choice?” she asked, looking up at him. “Was it ever, really?” She smiled fondly, then shook her head and laughed. “Frank, if we’re smart enough not to turn religion into Joby’s forbidden fruit, you know what will happen as well as I do. He’ll go once or twice, find out it’s boring, and forget all about it.”
Knowing she was right, Frank reached out to embrace his wife, wondering, not for the first time, if she weren’t the more sensible one after all.
When they had hugged and kissed their differences away, Frank called Joby’s name, and he came so quickly that Frank suspected he’d been listening at the door.
“Joby,” he said dryly, “your old man’s a reactionary iconoclast.”
Joby stared up at him, clearly unsure whether it was all right to ask what that was. So Frank reached down, lifted his son into the air, and whirled him around before pulling the now giggling boy into a fidgety embrace.
“That means sometimes I’m a weirdo,” Frank explained playfully. “But I get better after your mother works on me, so we’ve decided you should go to church with Benjamin tomorrow, and the week after that if you want to. And when you get home, I hope you’ll tell us all about it, ’cause we don’t know much about church either. Okay?”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll do a oral report.”
“My son the genius!” Frank replied, setting Joby down with a groan. “Your brain’s getting too heavy for me to lift like that anymore. You know that?”
“Not just my brain!” Joby bragged, pulling his sleeve back with a fierce expression, and bending his arm up to make a muscle.
“Oh my gosh!” Frank laughed. “Did I just hoist all that up in the air? No wonder my back hurts!”
“No wonder!” Joby proudly agreed.
“Tell you what, sport,” Frank informed him. “From now on, you lift me. Okay?”
“Okay, sport!” Joby replied.
“I don’t know,” Joby whispered, “but they sure didn’t act happy.” The boys had lost Benjamin’s parents in the milling throng headed out of Mass, and were taking advantage of their first chance all morning to talk privately.
“That’s so weird,” Benjamin whispered back. “I never heard of anybody’s parents not wantin’ ’em to go to church before . . . At least they let you come.” He shrugged.
Joby could hardly wait to talk with Father Crombie. He had liked the old priest the minute he’d seen him at Mass. His kindly expression and cheerful smile had reminded Joby of Santa Claus, and he made funny jokes in the middle of his speeches. Joby hadn’t always understood them, but people had laughed so hard that he hadn’t been able to keep himself from laughing too. When Father Crombie had talked about people being lights in the dark, Joby had imagined himself surrounded by glowing candles—as if standing in a giant Christmas tree. It was such a neat idea that it had made him fidgety.
Of course, he’d been a little disappointed to see the polished benches filled with normal people instead of lords and ladies, but the Mass had still been wonderfully strange. There’d been a great deal of kneeling and standing, and sitting, and standing, and kneeling again, just when you started to get comfortable and weren’t expecting it. Joby suspected this was all meant to spy out people like himself who didn’t belong there, though Benjamin insisted they only did it so that people wouldn’t fall asleep. Joby couldn’t imagine anyone going to sleep in the middle of something so interesting. His admiration for Benjamin had grown in leaps and bounds as he’d watched his friend stand and kneel, and mouth the long, intricate prayers with the casual ease of an expert.
Not everything about the Mass had been pleasant, though.
Joby still hadn’t gotten over the idea that God had a kid. He figured Geezez must have been more like a superhero than a normal kid, since no normal kid could go forty days without eating. But the more Joby had thought about it, the more Geezez seemed like a dumb name for a superhero—or for anyone at all. It sounded like “Cheez-Its,” or “Geezez Krised!”—which he’d heard people say when they were surprised or upset. It was like being named Dang It or Holy Moley. But not until halfway through the Mass, as he’d sat listening carefully to the prayers being read and chanted around him, had Joby slowly come to realize that God’s superhero son, Geezez, and the frightening man nailed to the boards above the table for failing to beat the devil were the same guy!
If Geezez, who wouldn’t even take a piece of bread when He was starving, had lost to the devil anyway, and ended up like that, what was going to happen to Joby? Joby didn’t know how long he could go without eating, but it wasn’t anything like forty days! He’d spent the rest of the service reminding himself that Arthur wouldn’t have asked him to try if there was no way he could win. He just wouldn’t have!
Before church, Benjamin had asked his folks if he and Joby could go talk with Father Crombie afterward. So now the boys were waiting for the crowd of old ladies around the old priest to dissipate. When the last chatty old woman finally let him be, Benjamin walked boldly up with Joby in tow.
“Hello, Benjamin.” Father Crombie smiled mischievously. “I saw you over there. Why didn’t you come over sooner and rescue me from Mrs. O’Hearn?” He turned his kindly smile on Joby who suddenly felt shy. “Who is your quiet friend?”
Benjamin laughed. “He’s not quiet! That’s Joby, Father Crombie. He’s not Catholic, but he’s my best friend.”
“Benjamin said I could come,” Joby said. “Is it all right?”
“Of course!” Father Crombie gasped, looking scandalized. “Our Lord welcomed every child he ever met! I don’t think He even asked if they were Catholic!”
“We’ve got some questions,” Benjamin said. “Have you got time to talk to us?”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do.” He smiled. “Ask away!”
“They’re . . . kind of private,” Joby said. “Could we go . . . somewhere?”
“Oh. Certainly,” Father Crombie replied. “Would the sacristy do, while I put away these vestments?”
When Benjamin nodded, Joby did too.
The sacristy turned out to be a small room to one side of the altar. As they entered, Joby saw closets filled with royal-looking robes, and shelves cluttered with mysterious boxes, bottles, books, and candlesticks of gold and silver. It was like a treasure trove! On one shelf there were two large golden cups, one with rubies set in its stem. As Father Crombie turned to hang the long embroidered scarf he’d worn over his robe in a closet filled with other such scarves, Joby caught Benjamin’s eye and pointed urgently up at the golden cups, mouthing the word “Grail.” Benjamin shook his head no, just as the old priest turned around and sat down in a chair by the scarf closet.
“Well, boys,�
�� he said pleasantly, “what shall we talk about?”
Benjamin looked to Joby, who turned to Father Crombie, shy once more, and unsure of how to begin.
“If it’s a secret,” the priest assured them, “I promise you that nothing said here will ever leave this room. That is a sacred oath, Joby.”
After his embarrassing interview with Father Morgan, Joby had given considerable thought to making his questions sound less foolish.
“I have this book about Camelot and King Arthur,” Joby began apprehensively, “and I wanted to ask if you think Camelot is a real place anybody could get to.”
Looking neither surprised nor amused, Father Crombie thought for a moment, then said, “I do believe in Camelot, Joby. But I suspect it can only be reached these days through the dreams and intentions of good men and women like yourself.”
Though not what he’d hoped for, the answer fit Joby’s own experience.
“So, it’s not real anymore?”
The priest looked startled. “Of course it is!”
“But you just said . . . What do you mean?” Joby asked.
Father Crombie put a hand to his chin in thought, then grinned. “Is money real?”
Both boys nodded, looking slightly confused.
“See?” Father Crombie beamed. “You both say yes. Yet money doesn’t exist any more than Camelot does.”
“What?” Benjamin said. “Everybody’s got money.”
“Do they?” Father Crombie asked with twinkling eyes.
Benjamin reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled dollar bill. “Look!”
“Is that money?” Father Crombie asked, as if he knew a joke they hadn’t got yet. He rose to snatch a sheet of paper from the nearby countertop, and held it up for them to see. ST. ALBEE’S PRIORY CHURCH BULLETIN was printed in large green letters across the top. The rest was columns of black type. “What about this, Benjamin? Is this money?”
“No, Father,” Benjamin said, beginning to look worried.
“Why not?” the priest insisted. “It’s paper just like yours. It’s even got green and black ink on it. It’s bigger, but that should only make it worth more, shouldn’t it?”
The Book of Joby Page 8
