by Scott Meyer
After a moment, Jimmy spoke again. “Oh, damn. Sorry about that.” There was a pause, then, faintly, from a great distance behind them, they heard, “I’m over here.” They turned and saw Jimmy standing in front of the dais, hundreds of feet from where they stood. He was only recognizable for his green and gold robes, and the small dot of light emanating from the plasma ball at the top of his staff. Jimmy spread his arms wide and said something else, but from that distance, it was hard to make out.
“I’M SORRY! WE CAN’T HEAR YOU, MERLIN! YOU’RE TOO FAR AWAY!” Phillip yelled. He did not look sorry.
Everyone in the entire hall was now looking at the three of them, the two wizards standing out in the open vastness of the hall and the most famous wizard in the world, standing at the far end, apparently struggling to be heard. If Merlin was irritated or worried, he didn’t let on. He simply took a single step forward. He stepped forward slowly, like he was absent-mindedly drifting around the room while thinking about something else. His back foot lifted from the ground before his forward foot touched down, and in the intervening second, he covered the entire distance between himself and the other wizards. He didn’t fly so much as he floated with great speed. When his forward foot did touch down, there was no sense of any unusual weight or momentum. He simply had taken a single step forward, and had arrived where he was going. It was a powerful demonstration of the casual, effortless use of tremendous power. Martin remembered what Phillip had said about Jimmy’s need to constantly remind people what he could do.
“I said, welcome to Camelot, Martin.” Jimmy smiled and extended a hand, which Martin shook. It was a good, solid handshake and a natural, toothy smile. “Phillip has given you the tour, I see. What do you think?”
“It’s amazing!” Martin said.
Jimmy held the handshake and the smile slightly longer than expected. After a moment he said, “But?” he seemed amused, not irritated. If anything, his smile brightened.
Martin laughed nervously. “It’s all a bit …”
“Vulgar?” Phillip offered. “Hideous? Repugnant?”
“Much,” Martin said.
Jimmy smiled at both Phillip and Martin. Martin smiled back. Finally, the handshake ended, punctuated by a firm slap on Martin’s back. “You’re not wrong, Martin. Walk with me.” Jimmy turned and started moving toward the center of the hall. To Martin’s relief, he didn’t traverse the entire distance in one step as before, making it difficult to keep up. To Phillip’s disgust, he instead simply levitated several inches above the ground and floated forward at a walking pace, robes flapping behind him as if he were standing on the shore of a windswept lake. The marble floor seemed to distort beneath him and smooth out behind him as he moved, like the wake behind a boat. Martin walked beside him, listening. Phillip followed behind, glowering.
“You see, Martin, despite what some people may believe, I’m not in charge here. I serve at the pleasure of the king,” Jimmy said, looking down at Martin from his elevated height.
“King Eustace,” Phillip said.
“Indeed, although he prefers to be called Arthur.”
“At your suggestion,” Phillip added.
“Exactly! As Phillip says, I make suggestions, but the king makes the decisions. I just try to help. I’m a consultant. They wanted a castle. I suggested a location. They wanted it to be the greatest castle of all time. I showed them how it could be done. They wanted it covered in gold. I made that happen. They wanted their names to be remembered in myth and legend. Can you think of a better way to accomplish that than to use the Arthur myth?”
“Use,” Phillip spat. “You mean hijack.”
Jimmy stopped, still hovering, and pivoted as if he were standing on a turntable to face Phillip. Martin would have expected him to look irritated, but he seemed delighted. “Yes! Phillip’s right, Martin. Hijack is a good description of what we did to the Arthur legend. It’s an ugly word, but really, use isn’t much better. Before you think too ill of me, Martin, let me show you something.” He pivoted again, to face the spot they’d been walking towards. The exact center of the hall was marked by a massive inlaid medallion. A perfect circle of polished granite twenty feet wide was set into the floor. The circle was decorated with intricate scrollwork and inlaid floral motifs. Like moons orbiting a planet, thirteen granite circles two feet across were spaced evenly around the circumference of the medallion.
Everyone in the hall had watched the wizards since the moment Jimmy joined them, but Martin was suddenly far more aware of it. All conversation had stopped. The world was holding its breath. Jimmy took a deep breath, and for a moment Martin thought of him as Merlin.
Merlin said, “Ronda Tablo supreniro,” and tapped the circle closest to their feet with his staff. Blue tendrils of lightning similar to those in his novelty store plasma ball shot from the tip of his staff and filled the two foot circle of granite set into the floor. The sparks radiated to the edge of the circle, tracing its outline on the floor. The light continued along the edges of the thirteen smaller circles, then leapt to the medallion in the center until all of the circles were outlined in blue light. A sound filled the air, like a two-ton slab of stone sliding against another two-ton slab of stone, recorded, amplified and played through a speaker carved from a two-ton slab of stone. Slowly, all of the circles began to rise. As they rose, the circles were revealed to be the tops of pedestals, their sides bowing inward gracefully toward the middle, like a stylized hourglass. The thirteen smaller columns stopped rising, and were about a foot and a half tall. The central medallion stood taller than the other columns, and was similarly bowed inward, but rather than flaring back outward simply stopped at its narrowest point.
The hall was steeped in reverent silence, so it was particularly grating when Phillip said, “Nice card table you’ve got there.”
Jimmy ignored him. As the people in the hall got back to their business, Jimmy turned to Martin. “What do you think?”
Martin walked forward and put his hands on the table. “It’s the round table.”
“It’s a round table,” Phillip corrected him. “It’s not the real round table.”
“It’s a real round table,” Jimmy corrected Phillip. “The other round table, the one Phillip’s referring to, never existed, so I ask you, Martin: Isn’t this the the real round table?”
“But it’s not the authentic round table,” Phillip said.
“It is authentic,” Jimmy said. “It’s what’s really here. The fact that reality doesn’t match what you want or expect isn’t reality’s fault. Besides, authenticity is overrated. When you were a kid playing in your backyard, who did you pretend to be, Han Solo piloting the Millennium Falcon, or Buzz Aldrin going to the bathroom in his astronaut pants?”
Martin, still running his hands over the table’s polished surface, said, “But the table’s just furniture. The king and the knights were the point, and they’re different.”
“I bet their names sound familiar, though,” Phillip said.
“I only suggested changing three of their names. Lancelot, Galahad, and Gawain, and to be fair, Gawain’s original name was Dwayne, so that was a lateral move. Phillip’s got a valid point, Martin. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done. I’ve bent reality to fit a work of fiction just to make the royal family happy. I had good reasons, though. A happy king doesn’t start wars out of boredom. I’ve given them this castle because a wealthy king doesn’t start wars out of greed. I made them legends because a living legend doesn’t kill out of jealousy. ”
“He gives them what they want, and in return they do exactly what he tells them,” Phillip said, “because if they ever stop, he might stop, too.”
“I’m not forcing anybody to do anything, and I put it to you, Martin: who have I hurt?”
“You may not tell them that they have to do what you say, or else,” Phillip said, staring directly at J
immy, “but when was the last time they didn’t do what you told them to?”
Jimmy, who had faced Martin through the entire conversation, and didn’t change that now, answered, “I’m fortunate that the king seems to hold me and my advice in high esteem.”
“Yes,” Phillip said. “The level of the esteem in which you are held is amply demonstrated by that statue out front!”
Although neither man spoke for the next five seconds, they were the most eventful of the entire day, as the facial expression equivalent of a chess match played out with Martin as the spectator.
At the mention of the statue, Jimmy, for the first time, seemed genuinely irritated. For an instant, Phillip looked quite pleased with himself. Jimmy seemed unsure if this was because he had gotten in a good insult, or if Phillip knew something about the continued vandalism of his likeness. Was it a confession, he seemed to wonder, or is he just laughing because someone else has gotten one over on me?
Jimmy gave Phillip a suspicious, questioning look. Phillip doubled down on the smugness, with a side order of slightly confused innocence, as if to say, what are you looking at me like that for? I know nothing about how your statue is being regularly anointed with feces. This did nothing to answer Jimmy’s unspoken questions, so he did what he always did when unsure of himself, he feigned confidence. He smirked and almost imperceptibly nodded his head. It was very convincing. For a moment Martin thought Phillip was caught.
Phillip clearly knew that Jimmy was bluffing, and he chose to stand pat with the smug, confused innocence, now with more smug! This, Martin saw, was a master stroke. To laugh, smile, or even nod would be an admission of guilt. To blanch, flinch, or look away would be just as big an admission. To continue with no change in expression would have told Jimmy that he was trying not to betray any information, which would have told Jimmy everything he wanted to know. To remain innocently confused, but get slightly smugger told Jimmy, you think you know something. I know what you think you know. I know if you’re right or not, and I’m never, ever going to tell you.
“Well,” Jimmy said, turning back to Martin. “I must get back to my business. It was good to see you again, Martin.” Jimmy tapped the stool closest to him and the round table and stools silently sunk back into the floor.
“Goodbye, Jimmy,” Phillip said.
“Goodbye, Martin,” Jimmy said. “I’ll see you tonight.” Jimmy turned and in a single, graceful step was at the golden dais at the far end of the hall. In another step he was at the top of the dais, next to the throne. He paused there, turned, and looked at Phillip as he stroked the back of the throne of England, then he glided around a corner and disappeared into a hole between the tapestries Martin had not noticed before.
They watched him leave, then Phillip said, “It may surprise you to know this, Marty, but I really do hate him.”
“He makes some valid points,” Martin said.
“That’s a big part of why I hate him. If he were wrong about everything I could just dismiss him as a moron, but he’s not. He’s smart, probably smarter than I am, so I have to take him seriously.”
Chapter 21.
Finally, the time of the feast arrived. As the guest of honor, Martin turned up last. As he entered, he quickly counted around twenty people in attendance. As they walked to the banquet table, Phillip told Martin that almost every wizard in Western Europe was there, but it did not look like a lot of people. Part of the problem was that the party was being held in the great hall of the castle Camelot. Only one of the numerous rectangular slabs that he knew could rise to be used as banquet tables had been lifted. It looked tiny, all the way at the far end of the hall, and the assembled wizards were all huddled together at one end. They could have spread out far enough to not hear each other and only used half of the table. Martin was never one for parties, but he knew there was a chance that by this time tomorrow he’d be sitting in the back of a squad car, hopefully wearing a bathrobe, so he was determined to try to enjoy this night. As they approached the table, all of the wizards stood and applauded. Jimmy floated out and met them well before they got to the table. Martin surreptitiously tapped his staff three times on the floor as Jimmy approached.
“Martin, welcome,” said Jimmy, putting a hand on Martin’s back and leading him toward the head of the table. Martin could see that two seats had been saved for them – a large, ornate onyx seat with a high back at the head of the table, and an empty spot on the bench to the right of the chair. When Martin started for the bench, Jimmy stopped him.
“Martin,” he said, not unkindly, “what are you doing?”
“Well, that chair’s, you know, at the head of the table, and I just figured, since you’re the chairman …” Martin trailed off.
“Nonsense! Martin, this is your banquet! You’re the guest of honor!” Jimmy said, guiding Martin into the fancy stone chair. “Tonight, you get to sit in my chair!”
Martin settled into the seat. It was the most comfortable ice-cold slab of stone he had ever sat on. He looked around for Phillip and made eye contact with him as he settled into the only seat still available, on the bench at the far end of the group. Phillip clearly seemed to find the seating arrangement funny, so Martin didn’t worry about it. Gary and Jeff were at the far end of the group with Phillip. They immediately fell into serious conversation.
Every other person was a stranger, but they had certain things in common. They were all men between the ages of twenty and forty. Most had facial hair, some so thick and unkempt that Martin feared they were home to rodents, others so scraggly that they barely earned the name beard. Here was a group of guys that would look right at home at a table in the cafeteria of the Googleplex, the Microsoft Redmond campus, or a science fiction convention, but they were in Medieval England, dressed as wizards, and they were all looking at Martin. Jimmy introduced Martin to the wizard seated to his left, an Asian man in his thirties wearing a spectacular red silk robe and hat, both embroidered with dragons. His staff leaned against the table next to him. It was some sort of highly polished driftwood with a claw carved into its top as a figurehead.
Jimmy said, “This is Wing Po, mysterious sorcerer from the East.”
Wing Po extended his hand and in a thick New Jersey accent said, “Hiya! You can call me Eddie.” Martin shook his hand. A profoundly awkward silence descended on the table. Everyone was looking at Martin, and Martin was looking back at everyone.
“Hi, everyone,” Martin said. Nobody said hi back, but there were nods of acknowledgement all around.
“Uh,” Martin continued. “Thanks for coming.” Everyone was offering encouraging looks except Phillip, Gary, and Jeff, who were just enjoying the show.
Jimmy put his hand on Martin’s wrist and said, “Martin, you don’t have to say anything.”
“Oh! Good! Thank you,” Martin replied.
“But you can if you want to,” Jimmy said. “Go ahead.” Everybody seemed to lean in, expecting to hear something good, particularly Phillip, Gary, and Jeff.
“Um,” Martin said, “I, for one … am hungry. Let’s eat!”
The assembled wizards approved of this. Jimmy clapped his hands. Servers in gold uniforms accented with contrasting slightly shinier gold trim brought out a variety of roasted animals, boiled vegetables, and breads that seemed to be made up entirely of crust. An empty earthenware mug was placed in front of each wizard. As all of the other servers hustled out of the hall a single steward with a large jug entered and started to pour the contents of the jug into Martin’s cup, but Jimmy stopped him.
“Steward, this is a solemn occasion,” Jimmy said. “Leave us in peace and see that nobody enters this hall until we emerge. Go now. We will have no need of your intoxicating drink.” The steward bowed deeply and hastily, and then nearly ran out of the hall. When the door had shut with a thud that reverberated throughout the massive room, Jimmy removed his hat and reached inside
, saying, “We’re more than capable of supplying our own.” He pulled out a bottle of Scotch and sat it on the table with a satisfying clink. The wizards started removing their hats and producing their beverages of choice. Martin pulled out a bottle of diet Dr Pepper. Jimmy tilted his head and squinted at him.
“I’ll save the booze for after I’ve demonstrated my salutation,” Martin said. Jimmy seemed to approve.
After that, the assembled wizards did the most reassuring thing they could do. They ignored Martin and ate.
There were only men at the table, as women tended to find the climate of Medieval England a bit more favorable for wizards than it was for witches. Martin remembered that Phillip told him the women who found the file tended to go to Atlantis, either right off the bat or immediately after training. Martin had asked if any of the men ever went to check it out. “Go to see a society governed by women who chose to go somewhere we weren’t? No, we’ve never sent anyone to go look around. We’re afraid we might not like what we find.”
The wizards all knew each other. They gathered regularly, but thanks to teleportation, they were able to live in small clusters spread all over Western Europe and into Russia. Only a few chose to live very far from any other wizards.
Anybody who’s attended a large family holiday meal would recognize the pattern of the conversation. There were small pockets of tentative conversation, followed by chewing noises. Then there was genuine lively conversation about unimportant topics. Those conversations picked up steam as the eating wound down. Less successful conversations died off, killed by more successful conversations, and soon there was a nice mix of talking and laughter as the men at the table started to remember all the reasons that they liked each other. The key, any good host knew, was to intervene before everyone started remembering why they didn’t like each other. Even his most virulent critic (Phillip) would agree, Jimmy was a good host.
