Knight Life (31 page)

T
HE TV CREWS
emerged from the building just as the police cars pulled up out front. Seeing the fire, the newsmen automatically trained their minicams on the blaze. It took them a few seconds to realize that there were children trapped inside, and even a few seconds more before they saw that the would-be next mayor of New York was risking his life in a mad dash into the inferno.

    
Arthur took one glance upward, saw that the children were hysterical, saw that there was no way he was going to be able to talk them into trying to jump down, even though they would likely survive the drop—especially if he used his own body to break the fall. However, he did
not relish the idea of entering the building—the intensity of the heat was almost overwhelming.

    
Then, as he studied the wall, he had an idea. He removed his shoes and began to scale the side of the building.

    
It was easier than he'd dared hope. The building front was brick, and the windows and doors had been built with so many outcroppings that it had been practically designed for handholds. From the corner of his eye Arthur saw that residents of the building were charging out the front, as were those to either side, and he was thankful for that. There was only so much he could do in terms of getting people to safety, and he had to deal with one crisis at a time.

    
He went higher, higher. Flame flared out from the window beneath him, licking at his pants cuff, and he had to reach down to pat it out. The wall was heating up under his touch. In moments it would be too hot for him to hold on. Bracing himself, he thrust himself higher, and his desperate reach grabbed the outcropping of a narrow ledge. It was all that he needed to pull himself up and away from the window. He scrabbled apelike (and he thought for a moment of Gwen's reference to a monkey suit—how right she had been) with his hands holding the ledge and his feet braced on the wall directly below.

    
He heard the sound of the children before he saw them. Hundreds of sparks flew at him and dissipated on the fabric of his wet clothing. He thanked his common sense for the protective move he'd made earlier, or otherwise he'd have had a lot more to worry about than that one singed pants cuff.

E
VERYONE FROM MERLIN'S
table had already moved away, and so they did not see the incident. Only Percival and Gwen were left at the front table, everyone else having headed outside. But Percival saw, and he
leaped over the head table, shouting, “Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing? Put him down, right now!”

    
He closed in on the demon, but the monster swept its arm around, throwing Percival back like a rag doll. Percival fell over the table, knocking over the centerpiece and catching up the tablecloth. He hit the ground and lay still.

    
“What are you doing?” shrieked Gwen, running toward him. “You only wanted the sword! Morgan said all you wanted was the sword!”

    
The waiter grinned at her in an unearthly way. “Morgan lied,” it growled. “She does that sometimes.”

    
“Put him down! Now!” She grabbed at the thing, grabbed at its shirt, and a piece of it tore off in her hand as it shoved her back effortlessly, knocking her over several chairs. With a contemptuous sneer, the demon threw Merlin into the middle of a tablecloth, rolled him up in it, and moments later was darting out the kitchen exit with the unprotesting bundle slung over its shoulder. And just like that, Marlin was gone.

A
RTHUR LOOKED UP
through the smoke at the crying children. “Hold on,” he called. “I'll be right there!” His heart pumping furiously, he pulled himself up so that his face was even with the bottom of the window. He saw the frightened, smoke-smeared faces.

    
“Come with me!” he shouted.

    
To his utter astonishment, they backed up, shaking their heads. The little girl said, “Our mommy will be mad! She ... she said she was just running out for some milk ... she'd be right back ... we weren't supposed to go anywhere!”

    
“We're not allowed to go with strangers!” the boy said, as the room filled with smoke.

    
“Oh, for God's sake!” bellowed Arthur as he stepped in through the window and approached the children.

    
They pointed at him and started shouting over and over again,
“Stranger danger, stranger danger!”

    
“This is ridiculous,” Arthur muttered, as he slung them under his arms, and turned toward the window to get back out.

    
Then he saw it. Between him and the window, there was a leaking gas line, and flame was leaping right at it.

    
There was no time. The closest exit was now the door, and Arthur slammed into it at full speed, taking the entire impact with his shoulder. He crashed through the thin door, sending wood flying everywhere, just as the apartment behind him exploded. He fancied that he could hear the screams outside as they saw the window through which he'd entered obliterated by a wall of flame.

    
The children were no longer screaming in protest. They were clutching on to him for dear life, the only sound coming from them being soft whimpering.

    
There was fire everywhere. He had stopped breathing, fearing the smoke would collapse a lung. Flame was licking at the banister of the stairs, and the wooden steps were smoldering but had not yet gone up. He ran down them, trying not to fall, overbalanced as he was with the children in tow.

    
Suddenly, his foot went through one of the steps and his leg went through up to his knee. With a howl of pain and fury, Arthur extracted the leg, which was now cut and bleeding. He fought off the pain; there wasn't time for it now, it would be dealt with later. He stumbled, staggered down the steps, hearing a cracking overhead that told him the roof was in danger of collapsing.

    
The door was just ahead of him. Unfortunately, so was what appeared to be a wall of flame. The heat almost drove him back, but to go back was to perish. Arthur steeled himself for a moment, holding the children as close to him as he could, and charged. He darted through the flame, almost losing consciousness, and suddenly he was in the open air, stumbling down the front steps of the
building. He lost his grip on the children, heard them sobbing as they tumbled away from him, and then he realized that he was on fire. Without hesitation he fell to the ground and rolled, and the quick movement was exactly what was needed to snuff out the flames before they consumed him.

    
Police officers pushed through the crowds of people starting to encircle them. Now there were more sirens coming—fire engines and ambulances. Two policemen wrestled momentarily with the TV cameramen, who also wanted to push through the crowd to get close-ups. “Move it or lose it!” snapped one of the cops, and the cameramen got the hell out of his way.

    
Arthur lay in the center of the circle, moaning softly, but sitting up. The children's mother was sobbing, clutching them to her, a bag of groceries lying forgotten on the ground nearby. Everyone was shouting questions at once, and Arthur simply sat there for a moment, dazed, trying to take it all in. Then he fought his way to a standing position.

    
“Whoa, fella,” one of the cops said, “steady ...”

    
“Gwen ...” Arthur said through parched, broken lips. “Have to get ... to Gwen ...” But there was a sharp pain in his chest, and he started to cough violently. “Gods, I'm centuries too old for this sort of thing.”

    
From all around him, people who had been guests at the dinner were murmuring in amazement at what they'd seen. It was as if all wanted to reach out, to touch him, to say something to him in low, reverent tones.

    
As the fire trucks rounded the corner, there were shrieks as the roof of the building collapsed in on itself with a heartrending crash. The firemen were already leaping off, looking at the shattered hydrant in confusion, and seeking out alternate sources of water.

    
“Arthur!”

    
He turned and saw Gwen shoving her way through the crowd. But she was having trouble doing so; fortunately
enough, Percival was right behind her. Moments later he was in front of her, strong-arming people out of the way so that she could get to Arthur.

    
Arthur let out a long, unsteady sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Lord, Gwen. It's good to see you.” He winced as he touched his leg. “Help me get back to the hall. People paid good money to hear me babble about some nonsense or other.”

    
An ambulance had pulled up, and paramedics were already leaping out of the back. “Arthur, don't be crazy!” Gwen was saying. She shouted to the paramedics, “Over here!”

    
“Attend to others! I'm fine!” Arthur snapped.

    
“Now!” Gwen insisted, and he realized she wasn't taking no for an answer.

    
Moments later they were seated inside an ambulance. It was not, however, moving, as the paramedics were busy offering aid to others, assessing the situation and seeing who—if anyone—needed immediate conveyance to the hospital. The firemen were busy battling the blaze and, apparently, winning. Gwen sat next to Arthur, as the king drew in oxygen from a tank, while Percival stood just outside the ambulance, ensuring privacy and keeping everyone at bay.

    
“What happened, Arthur? How did—?”

    
“That can wait,” he said, speaking through the oxygen mask on his face. “Where's Merlin?”

    
No reply.

    
Arthur looked up into Gwen's eyes. “Gwen?”

    
She turned away. With forced calm, Arthur said, “Gwen! Where the hell is Merlin?”

    
“One of those waiters,” she said tonelessly. “Knocked him out. Percival tried to stop him; so did I. He made off with him.”

    
“
What?!
” Arthur was trembling with rage. “Why didn't Percival himself tell me this?”

    
“Because this is the first moment alone we've had, and
we wanted to wait until we knew you were out of immediate danger. You inhaled smoke, you were bleeding, you—”

    
“Damnit, Gwen, they've got Merlin! I cannot believe Percival allowed them to—”

    
She tried to restrain him. “Arthur, come on! Percival was caught off-guard by a demon! He tried! It's not right to blame him'”

    
“Yes ... yes, of course,” Arthur managed to calm himself, albeit just barely. And then, suddenly, a thought lanced through him, like a spear. His hand had been resting on Gwen's shoulder, but now it flexed so hard that Gwen yelped.

    
“Arthur! What's—?”

    
His voice was a sick whisper. “How did you know?”

    
“W-what? What do you—”

    
He turned to confront her, and Gwen's body shook with fear from the look in his eyes. “How did you know Percival fought a creature from hell, a demonspawn, and not a human being?”

    
“You told me.”

    
“No.”

    
“Yes. Just now. You—”

    
“Don't make it worse!” he shouted at her. “Don't lie to me!”

    
Tears streamed down her face as she tried to shrink from him, but there wasn't room in the ambulance to get away from him. “Arthur, please don't—”

    
“How did you know?”

    
“Morgan told me!”
she screamed. “She told me they would be there. She arranged for everything.” She was speaking desperately, words tumbling one over the other. “But she told me she just wanted the sword. That's all. She swore no one would be hurt. I thought—”

    
“And you provided the distraction.” His words were cold, burning with an icy flame that also blazed in his eyes.

    
“Yes. Bu—”

    
He shoved her away roughly, fists clenched as he trembled with repressed fury. “Damn you! How could you betray me again?”

    
Her body racked with sobs, as she said, “Arthur, please. I had no choice. Lance—”

    
“Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me.” His voice was pure venom.
“You're not fit for human company!”

    
He shoved open the door of the ambulance, tossing aside the oxygen mask, and immediately there were cameras going off, mikes in his face, reporters shouting things like, “Mr. Penn, what does it feel like being the man of the hour?” “What were you thinking when you were hanging from the side of that burning building?” “Did you think you were going to die?” “How did you feel about—”

    
Arthur grabbed the first newsman who came within arm's length and shoved him roughly out of the way. He spun and shouted, “Get away from me! Just ... leave me ...” His voice caught as he looked at Gwen's tear-stained face. “Leave me alone.”

    
He limped away into the darkness, illuminated briefly in the flickering of the rapidly dying fire.