by Peter David
He looked down at the broken coils of the Basilisk and said simply, “You’ll heal.” Arthur was extremely skeptical at the pronouncement, but it turned out the beast-man was right. Within moments Ron, Nellie, and Gilgamesh had arrived on the scene, and Miss Basil had already left behind her serpent form. She stood there as a normal woman, glaring at Merlin but doing so with such an affectedly sweet manner that it was all the more frightening.
“All right. What’s happened here?” demanded Gilgamesh, looking around at the fallen pillar. He stared at Merlin. “Weren’t you made out of rock?”
“Yes.”
“And why is that pillar down?”
“It was atop her,” Enkidu said, indicating the pillar and Miss Basil in turn.
“Why would that be?” Gilgamesh seemed to be striving to maintain his patience in the face of a most confusing state of affairs.
“I levitated it and dropped it on her,” said Merlin.
“Did you? I see. You assaulted her, in contravention to the law of this island.” His voice had become low and dangerous.
But Merlin didn’t seem particularly perturbed by it. “First, I didn’t know the bloody law of your bloody island. Second, she was doing the assaulting. And third, who are you supposed to be in that ridiculous Babylonian-style ensemble, anyway? Gilgamesh?”
“Yes,” he growled.
Merlin blinked several times, and actually seemed impressed, which in turn impressed the hell out of Gwen. “Ah. All right, then. None of that changes the fact that she was the one who launched the assault . . .”
“Did you?” demanded Gilgamesh of Miss Basil.
“We were simply having a fairly intense discussion,” said Miss Basil, primping her hair slightly and batting her eyes.
“Oh, this is asinine,” Arthur said impatiently, and he approached Gilgamesh while gesturing broadly. He was still holding Excalibur as he did so. “You can’t listen to her, she’s—”
And Gilgamesh’s sword was in his hand before Arthur drew any closer, and he fully extended it, catching Excalibur by the flat of the blade. The scimitar in Gilgamesh’s hand glittered in the twilight, and Arthur was taken aback, because when the two swords came together, they emitted an eerie noise. It was almost like a chant of recognition, as if the swords were two halves of a soul, bifurcated at some distant point in the past and only now rejoined. And then that abstract tone turned dark, even angry, as if the two halves of the soul abruptly remembered that they weren’t terribly fond of each other and fully intended to do something about that hostility.
Arthur felt a tremble, a shiver go up his arm, and he quickly stepped back, pulling the sword away. The sound immediately ceased. Gilgamesh remained utterly stoic, his sword still in a defensive position. “I wasn’t attacking you,” Arthur said.
“A king approaches with his sword drawn. What else am I to assume?”
Arthur almost said “My apologies,” but something warned him that displaying anything even slightly akin to weakness in the presence of Gilgamesh could wind up having some very negative backlash. So he simply slid Excalibur smoothly into its sheath, and the versatile blade promptly turned invisible as its ensorcellment enabled it to do.
“Sir, are you all right?” asked Ron of Arthur, but he was staring at Merlin even as he did so. Nellie was likewise gaping at the young/old wizard, and Arthur suppressed a smile with some difficulty.
“I’m fine, Ron.”
“Yes, he’s just fine, Ron,” said Miss Basil. “Isn’t that good to hear?”
“Oh . . . my God,” said Nellie, for she saw the liquid and slime-covered mass of humanity lying a few feet away, still burbling occasional inarticulate sounds. “Is that . . . Sandoval?”
“Yes,” Arthur told her, firing a look at Miss Basil. “Courtesy of our serpentine friend here.”
“What can I say?” inquired Miss Basil. “I had him over for lunch and he just wouldn’t leave.”
“You do nothing without reason, woman,” Merlin snapped at her. “What’s your game now?”
“I am but living life, Merlin. And life is a great and glorious game, is it not?” Her quiet hatred for the mage was obvious to Arthur, but she was controlling it with impressive effort.
“There is great hostility here,” said Gilgamesh.
“Oh, y’think?” asked Ron.
Gilgamesh ignored the sarcasm. “It would be best if we retired to my court, to work out a harmonious means of coexistence.”
“With all respect . . . one king to the other,” said Arthur, “I’m not entirely certain I see the need.”
And suddenly Enkidu stiffened, looking off into the distance. His ears were twitching like mad, and again his nostrils were flaring. Arthur saw his reaction, although he had no idea what it was he might be reacting to. Gilgamesh, always attuned to the needs and desires of his beast brother, said quickly, “What say you, Enkidu?”
“Another flying vessel.”
“The same as before?” Gilgamesh exchanged what was clearly a puzzled look with Miss Basil. Arthur didn’t know precisely why Gilgamesh would react in that way to the announcement of a coming airship. He did have, however, the beginnings of a dark suspicion, and it was not one that he considered particularly heartening.
“No,” Enkidu said firmly. “Smaller.”
Island folk were now coming up over the rise, pointing and shouting out to Gilgamesh in confusion. None of them had the faintest idea what was happening, and they were going to Gilgamesh for the answers. In a way, it had a certain charm to it. Arthur found himself envying Gilgamesh the moment. In Arthur’s case, particularly as President, people who approached him always seemed to do so with the conviction that they already had all the answers and simply needed to convince Arthur of the rightness of their viewpoints, thereby ensuring that everything would fall into place. It must be refreshing to have subjects who are very open about the fact that they are utterly clueless and are looking to you for explanations and assurances that everything is going to be all right.
And right in the middle of them was Percival. He did not look confused or frightened, but instead quite grim. He outdistanced the island folk rather easily and drew up alongside Arthur just in time to say, “We’ve got a problem, sire.”
And then the chopper was approaching. It was small and maneuverable, painted blue and white. A man and a woman were inside, visible through the wide windshields. The woman was the pilot, wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses and operating the vehicle with practiced expertise. And the man next to her had a camera, and he was—
“Baumann!” It was Nellie who had cried out, and Arthur would realize later that she had done so almost involuntarily. At the moment, all Arthur could think of was that Nellie was obviously right: It was Fred Baumann, the newspaper reporter, and he had somehow tracked them there. Nellie was waving frantically in a wide gesture that indicated that he should get the hell out of there.
“And what is that?” demanded Gilgamesh, looking extremely put out.
“It’s an AS350BA Astar,” Percival said. “Effective little chopper when you’re trying to take pictures in low-lying areas and over water.”
“You know your helicopters, Percival,” Arthur noted.
Percival shrugged. “When you’re immortal, you’d be amazed the hobbies you take up.”
“True. And you’re also right that we have a problem,” said Arthur. He glanced at Gwen. “He’s got pictures of you, dear. Of both of us. Of all this. We’ll have to deal with it.”
“I fully agree,” said Gilgamesh, and before Arthur could move—before anyone could make the slightest motion to stop him—Gilgamesh drew his mighty right arm back and forward, and then the scimitar was hurtling up through the air, itself moving like a lethal propeller. It seemed to pick up speed with every revolution, as if it had a life of its own, and then the scimitar carved right through the helicopter’s engine without so much as slowing down.
“No!” shouted Arthur, a cry echoed by Gwen, but it was far too late
. A plume of flame erupted from the top of the Astar, and there was the briefest of moments where Baumann realized just exactly what had happened, and what was about to happen. His mouth was open and he was clearly screaming, but he couldn’t be heard, and in all likelihood what he was shouting was simply a string of profanities.
And then the Astar exploded. Arthur instantly threw himself atop Gwen, bearing her to the ground, shielding her as heat sizzled the air, and there were screams from all around him. Flaming pieces of metal tumbled around them, and it seemed a miracle that they weren’t struck by any of them. Then something squishy landed near them, and Arthur realized it was the lower part of a leg, scorched almost beyond recognition. He batted it away before Gwen could see it.
The shrieks and cries of confusion were still coming from all around, and then Arthur was on his feet and advancing on Gilgamesh, rage boiling over within him. He was so infuriated he didn’t even think about Excalibur strapped to his back. Instead he shouted, “You didn’t have to do that! You just killed two people!”
Gilgamesh, towering over him, studied him as if he were a flea. “I killed two spies. They behaved with discourtesy. And I would have a care how you address me, were I you.”
“You barbaric animal—!”
And then Enkidu was between the two of them, his lips drawn back emphasizing his fearsome teeth, and he gave a low, warning growl, which froze Arthur but did nothing to dissipate his ire.
Very slowly, very dangerously, Gilgamesh repeated, “I would have a care . . . how you address me . . . were I you.”
There was the hiss of metal departing scabbard, and Percival had his sword in his hand. He was several steps away from Enkidu on the right, and there was determination burning in the Moor’s eyes. “It’s a little late to start preaching about caution, High King.”
Astoundingly, it was Miss Basil who came forward as the calming voice of peace. “Gilgamesh,” she said in her customary sultry tone, “perhaps it would be best if we retired to your court. There everything can be sorted out . . . can’t it, Miss Porter.”
The fact that she addressed her remark to Nellie caught Arthur off guard, and indeed, Nellie herself paled when she heard her name spoken by the creature calling itself Miss Basil. But Basil’s gaze was fixedly upon Nellie, and Nellie looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else doing anything else, which was enough to make Arthur wonder just what was going on. It was not sufficient, however, to make him lose sight of what had just occurred.
Gilgamesh, in the meantime, seemed to have lost interest in Arthur altogether. Instead he was staring fixedly at the trembling form of Sandoval in much the same way that a child becomes fascinated by an insect once the wings have been torn away. “Would this be,” he inquired as casually as if asking about the weather, “the man responsible for the assault upon your wife?”
“Yes,” said Arthur tightly. It was all he could do not to use Excalibur to chop Sandoval to bits.
“Well then,” Gilgamesh said in a very cheery voice, “we shall bring him along and add him to the Determination.”
The others looked around in confusion. “The what?” asked Percival.
“A Determination!” The island people were chanting the word, and it spread from one to the other as more and more showed up, saying again and again, “Determination! Determination!”
Arthur heard Gwen mutter to Nellie in a low voice, “Ever read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson?”
“Oh God, yes, I was thinking the exact same thing,” replied Nellie.
Arthur had no idea what they were talking about, but he knew what a single-minded mob sounded like, and he certainly wasn’t liking the sound of this one. They kept chanting that same damned word over and over, “Determination,” and furthermore he saw the way they were looking at Gilgamesh. They were dancing around him, their arms waving about like stalks of grain, their bodies undulating, and he realized at that point that he was surrounded by worshipers and fanatics. None of this was going particularly well, and he was wishing more and more that he’d had the good sense to leave Ron and Nellie behind. They weren’t part of this.
Except . . . the way that Nellie was looking around, and staring at the shattered pieces of the helicopter, led Arthur to believe that maybe she was more a part of it than he’d originally thought.
Merlin. Merlin would know.
For long, long months Arthur had felt as if he were wandering in darkness, deprived of his greatest and most assured advisor. But now, miraculously, Merlin had been returned to him, obviously restored through the potent magiks of the Holy Grail. It must have taken a much longer time to overcome the dark sorcery responsible for his paralysis, but overcome the sorcery had been. And now, finally, after all this time, he could turn to Merlin for advice and counsel, and everything would be vastly improved.
He turned toward Merlin.
Merlin was gone.
ZIUSURA WAS BUSY in his quarters, which were both large and cramped: large due to the pure space involved, and cramped thanks to the many, many books that occupied every available bit of space. And not just books: parchments, scrolls, stone tablets, just about anything that maintained the written word upon it. And his computer, as well. Ziusura was particularly proud of that one, and he’d just about finished packing it up when he heard a noise at the door to his study. He turned, surprised, confused, and just a little annoyed, to see a young man standing there. The young man had a faintly amused look and an attitude of age beyond his years.
Ziusura did not recognize him, and yet felt as if he’d known him for centuries. He paused for only the briefest of moments, and then said, “Aging backward?”
“Pretty much,” said the young man. He stepped forward, extending a hand. “Merlin Demonspawn.”
“Ziusura,” replied the old man, shaking the hand firmly.
Merlin cocked an eyebrow. “Ut-Napishti. Of course. I should have known. Where he would go, you would go.”
“Hardly,” said Ziusura with a disdainful cough.
“Then why are you here?”
“Everyone has to be someplace.”
“That’s no answer.”
“Heh.” There were crates and cartons all over. He continued to pack objects into them in no seeming order. “You will find, my reverse aging friend, that there are really only three answers to all questions in the world: Everyone has to be someplace; God told me to; and—”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time?”
Ziusura looked surprised. “You know that one?”
“Everyone knows that one.”
“Ah.”
Ziusura studied him for a moment. “Weren’t you a statue?”
“Yes. But I got better.”
“I see. And without the power of the Grail . . . would you get worse?”
The wizard shook his head. “My condition was based in magic. Once it was disposed of, it cannot return.”
“That may come in handy.”
“Yes.”
Merlin watched silently for a time as Ziusura went about his business. Ziusura was not in any particular mood to chat, and at first Merlin made his life rather easy by keeping his mouth shut. Eventually, though, he asked, “So . . . what’s all the packing for?”
“What do you think?”
He gave it a moment’s more thought, and then said, “I think you’re thinking that this is all going to end badly.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And you want to be prepared when it does go bad.”
“Oh, yes. Expect nothing, anticipate everything, that’s my motto.”
“A good motto,” said Merlin. “And have you anticipated just precisely what you’re going to do if it does end badly?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Not to sound indelicate, but . . . you’re referring to a means of escape from a situation that is becoming increasingly tenuous, bordering on unfortunate.”
“That is correct.”
“And you are preparing this because . . .” When Ziusura did not
immediately respond, Merlin finished, “... it seems like a good idea?”
“At this time? Most definitely.” He eyed Merlin thoughtfully. “They’re all quite mad here, you know. All of them.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And you were quite mad to join them. You and your friends. They are your friends, are they not?”
“Well, ‘friends’ might be too generous a term. But it’s not as if they had much choice.”
That comment caught Ziusura’s interest, and he paused a moment and stood fully, staring down at the young man. “What do you mean?”
Merlin smiled enigmatically. “The wheels of fate, Ut-Napishti. They turn, as they always do. But there are some who, even though they may appear paralyzed and helpless, are capable of greasing those wheels to their advantage.”
Ziusura gave a laugh that sounded like it was filled with phlegm. “You are quite something, young man. You claim you manipulated the strands of fate in order to put all this into motion? Is anyone walking the earth that devious? That diabolical? That utterly amoral?”
“And if there is . . . ?” asked Merlin neutrally.
“Then he should help me pack.”
Merlin grabbed a carton.
CHAPTRE THE TWENTY-SECOND
THE HIGH KING looks out upon his people. They are gathered unto him, here in his great court, and they are calling his name and are upon bended knee, swaying back and forth and chanting in a most harmonious manner.
It has been far, far too long since a Determination has been held. The people love when he does this. When he listens to various complaints and decides the future path that will be taken. They want to be led. They want to love and be loved. And he is fully prepared to give them all they desire. For he is their High King, their alpha and omega, their beginning and end. It is his right and obligation to provide all they need and more.
