Bill took it all in, straightening in his rented tux. Somehow, this was more than just the survival of his shelter. Something bigger was swirling. He could feel it, and the men and women who entered in either lavish gowns or elegant white tie could sense it, too. It was on their faces, an expectancy, a knowledge that they were about to be part of something important.
"Are you Bill?"
A young man in a hopelessly trendy suit not a tux, like every other male not dressed in costume rapped him on the shoulder. Bill nodded.
"Yes. Can I help you?" Bill laughed, wondering why he offered help when he was so obviously the one who needed help.
"Actually, Julie Gaffney told me to look out for you. I'm Max. I'm an assistant account executive at S&B, and she wanted to make sure that you got a good look at where the risers are set up for your choir."
"Oh, great!"
"Come with me, over to the Hall of Armor. That's where all the big stuff is happening tonight, you know. Camelot and all that."
"Of course. I mean, that makes sense."
Max led him to the hall, past clusters of lights mounted high on metal stands, their reflections flashing off the shiny surfaces. Brilliantly colored banners were hanging from the walls as if in preparation for a medieval tournament, and pages in garishly colored tights stood against the pillars, smiling and pointing out directions to socialites and their escorts, the stars and the fortunate ones with invitations.
The Hall of Armor was dazzling, nothing like the way it had seemed the last time he was there, when friends from Illinois had come to visit. Then it had been impressive, with the massive horses in their armor, the mounted knights looking down from their hollow suits.
Now, the metal itself seemed to gleam as if it had a life of its own. The banners were all new, flocked with gold brocade, the still horses seemed almost alive, a hoof poised in midair ready to continue its pace, to move forward to do battle. And the knights, which had always seemed stiffly lifeless—-the silent guards of a faded past now seemed on the verge of stirring to life once again. It was as if they were awaiting a signal, and then they would burst forth and shame the mere mortals with their glory.
There was even a fountain at the center of the room, flowing and swirling, a constant source of gentle noise and motion in a room that had been still for too long. Bordering the fountain was an exquisite collection of flowers, all at the peak of their bloom, the height of a temporary beauty.
"Is this okay?" Max asked. "I'm supposed to do anything you ask. What did Julie call me? Oh, yeah. I'm your squire tonight."
Bill grinned. "Great. That's just great ..:' His voice trailed off as he looked around. "Hey, is that a new suit of armor over there?"
"The one on the podium?"
Bill nodded, and Max explained. "It sure is new. Julie had it shipped in from a restaurant in New Jersey. It was sort of weird, but hey, the boss is the boss. And another new thing is that sword over in the middle in the Lucite case. It's really incredible. I don't know where it came from, Julie also managed to get it from someplace, but when the crowds go away from it, you should really get a look. It's more impressive than the Crown jewels."
"Well," Max said. "I'll be around if you need anything."
More people were arriving, a tide of the wellheeled clustering, nodding and smiling as the newer ones entered.
"Isn't that Elton John?"
"My goodness, did you see what Madonna is wearing?"
"Here we go again. The Donald is with a new model, and Ivana is with a new European count."
"Henry Kissinger is in the corner with Colin Powell…"
Then a hush descended over the assembly in a slow wave. And two people entered.
"Who is that guy? He's gorgeous…"
"Who is the woman? I've never seen anyone… anything like her."
Lancelot, his arm crooked, with Julie's hand resting lightly on his forearm, walked straight, not looking at the crowds, not stopping as the cameras flashed and the news crews stepped toward them.
He was still not well. Julie could feel the willpower it took just for him to get this far. Although he looked nothing short of glorious, she alone knew the toll the effort had taken.
"Do you know where we're going?" she said.
He smiled. "Yes, I do."
"Have you come up with an answer from what Merlin said yesterday? I can't get it out of my mind.
`One thing you've held and given away, the other you've always held but never known.""
"No, Julia. Even Sam and Mel were stumped. Just smile. We'll both find out soon enough."
As they walked to the Hall of Armor, the other guests returned to their conversations or watched as newcomers arrived. In a gathering as sensational as this one, attention spans were short.
Lancelot spotted Bill almost immediately and introduced Julie. And then Peg arrived, splendid in a peach gown.
"Lancelot," she said when she turned to him. "Please, please, forgive me."
He took her hand and kissed it, and the no-nonsense Dr. Reilly blushed furiously.
"It looks as if things are about to get started." Bill nodded toward a makeshift stage. And he was right. There was a blaze of talent on display, a veritable Who's Who of the entertainment world punctuated by speeches and testimonials by the world's most successful men and women of business.
It was numbing, and Julie glanced around, noting that even this stunning show was beginning to wear on the audience milling about. It was almost too much, overwhelming.
Bill left to gather the choir from the Avalon shelter, who had just arrived by bus. It was almost their turn to perform.
But so far, nothing had happened, nothing extraordinary. Part of Julie was relieved, the other part panic-stricken. If not tonight, when? And would that mean that because of Merlin's fifteen-percent window of error, they were not to be given a chance this time?
Lancelot was charming, mingling with his usual aplomb. Yet she could see how exhausted he was, the tight smile and the stiff greetings.
This, she knew, was the last of his strength. After tonight, there would be nothing in reserve.
She went to stand by his side just as the Avalon choir was announced.
Bill stepped out as the others filed onto the risers, all looking their best, all with eager expressions on their faces.
One member had separated himself from the others as they lined up to sing. He had arrived with the choir, his face shaved, his eyes gleaming, wearing a yellow and black tunic under his shirt. And then, with stunning ease, he blended into the crowd. So many others were dressed in similar clothing, so very many others in similar colors.
"Ladies and gentlemen." Bill smiled, then nodded to the suits of armor. "And tin. We are the Voices of Avalon choir, and it is our privilege to offer ourselves for your enjoyment."
The evening had begun in earnest.
Malvern ducked slightly as he wove among the people, all standing still and listening to the choir, their chords sour to his ears.
And then he saw it. Excalibur. It was glittering under lights, the stones and precious metals shining like beacons calling his name. That was it, the reason he was there. The Latin incantations were fresh in his mind, everything he had gleaned from the texts. He was prepared. Now, with Excalibur within reach, under a clear dome that was little more than a dust cover, he was about to claim his destiny.
It was almost too easy.
Lancelot was there. He could feel his presence, although he had yet to see him. Lady Julia was there as well.
Lady Julia. He grinned. Maybe he would take her with him, back to Camelot, where he would rule. Guinevere was not as enticing to him as was Lady Julia. Now, that would make his triumph complete and absolute-to conquer Lancelot so sublimely. How he would laugh at Lancelot. How he would gloat.
He saw her then, Lady Julia. Yes, he would have her. Soon she would be his, to do with as he pleased.
Another thought came into his mind. Perhaps he would take both Lady Julia and Guine
vere. And then later, at his leisure, decide which one to keep. Maybe both. Maybe neither. It would be a pleasant task at any rate, one suitable for the king.
King Malvern.
He straightened at the thought. Mighty King Malvern. Powerful Malvern. He could hear the accolades now. They were in his head, singing his praise, overlapping in their lush glory, drowning out the sounds of the miserable choir.
It was only a matter of time now, and then the world would sing the praises of Malvern, the greatest king of all.
Lancelot had been scanning the crowd, looking back at the sword, watching Julia. She was with Mr. Swenson, who was obviously pleased with the event. Good. As long as she was occupied, she would not be aware of the turmoil around her.
For he was there, within striking distance. Malvern. Lancelot could almost taste his presence.
He heard her laugh, and again his eyes fell upon her, the incandescence of her being. She leaned toward one of the men, and he saw her features change from intent listening to delight as he spoke and she responded. It was a marvel, a joy, simply to observe her movements, her every gesture and expression. As he watched her, he realized something both strange and ordinary, terrible and wonderful Lancelot loved her.
It was a truth he had known from the beginning. Perhaps even before the beginning. He had never told her. And as he stood in the distance, he wondered if he would ever have the chance.
The sword was still safe. She was still safe. For the time being. And he vowed that no matter what the consequence, he would keep it that way. Or die trying.
Julie could not believe the joke Mr. Stickley had just told her, slightly off-color but very funny. When she laughed, it was a relief, she felt so wonderfully normal.
The choir from Avalon had just left the stage, and they had done a wonderful job. It had been a refreshing change from the ultra-slick performers who had gone before and those who would follow. Mr. Swenson had mentioned something about sponsoring the shelter on a regular basis, funding that would be permanent, and she felt a marvelous rush of pleasure at the thought of being just a small part of that success.
As Mr. Stickley continued with yet another joke-how could he remember them all?-she looked for Lancelot. He was easy to spot, taller than the rest, certainly more handsome than anyone else there, anyone else she had ever seen.
Max from the agency whispered in her ear that someone from the Daily News wanted a quote from her, and with reluctance she pulled her gaze away from him.
As she walked past all the people, she took a deep breath and wondered if perhaps everything would just fall into place for them. He would adjust to this time and could exist there happily with her. Together, they could forge a new life.
She smiled. It would be wonderful, wouldn't it?
Everyone grinned at the man in the yellow and black tunic.
"Who's he supposed to be? Basil Rathbone?"
"No, no. He looks like the Black Prince."
"I thought the Black Prince wore a crown, not yellow and black."
"Maybe he's the Bumblebee Prince."
They began to giggle, and the man glared at them. Immediately, the laughter stopped.
He continued his progress, slowly, so as not to attract too much attention.
The crowd parted just slightly, and he saw her, Lady Julia. For some reason, he had changed his mind once again. The best revenge against Lancelot was so obvious! Not to take Lady Julia, to coddle and comfort her in Camelot, but to leave them both here. The twist would be to leave Lancelot alive and to leave Lady Julia dead.
Now, that would be a triumph! He would be stripped of everything then, no consolation of knowing that Lady Julia survived. Lancelot would have nothing!
And it would be so easy. His faithful Excalibur could assist in both deeds, ending Julia's life, beginning Malvern's new one.
Then it struck him: that is what the Latin text had meant! Two items, two special items. Of course! One was Excalibur, the other was the destruction of Lancelot through Julia. How utterly perfect and symmetrical, like a delicately balanced work of art.
He searched again for Julia. He needed her to be closer to both himself and the sword. And he needed to start the incantations.
So he began. He spoke the magical words softly, almost to himself, but loudly enough to be heard by the powers that be. A few people stared as he walked, this dark man so obviously alone, speaking to himself.
"That's the problem with an open bar," someone commented.
But he didn't hear, nor did he care.
Across the room, Lancelot sensed the beginning. Slowly, he searched the faces of the hundreds of guests, watching their movements, looking for just one. As if by some unseen force, he turned, and there he saw Malvern.
He was inching closer to Excalibur. But what caused every nerve in his body to hum was Malvern's gaze. For he was glaring at Julia with the look of a starving beast.
She remained oblivious.
"Julia, be alert!" he said aloud, and others nearby stared at him. But she didn't see, nor did she feel his warning. Instead, she was in an animated conversation with a young woman who was writing down the words.
Slowly, Lancelot moved toward the sword, his focus still on Julia. "Give me strength," he murmured.
Malvern, his body angled just slightly, raised his elbow and with one single blow crashed through the Lucite and grabbed the hilt of Excalibur.
A stunned silence descended wavelike through the crowd, and Lancelot was at Malvern's side, cautious, waiting for his chance.
Malvern raised his voice slightly, in his Latin chant, and rays began to emanate from the sword.
Julie heard the commotion.
"What's happening?" she asked Mr. Swenson, who was tall enough to see over the throng.
"How marvelous." He winked at her. "There seems to be a little stage play going on. It's the Lancelot actor and someone else. Fabulous launch to the campaign, Miss Gaffney."
But she was already rushing to Lancelot, pushing through the assembly, going over the words in her mind: "one thing you've held and given away, the other you've always held but never known."
Oh, Lord, she thought frantically. Please make it clear to me…
And then she saw them both, Lancelot and Malvern. She froze, not wanting to make a sudden movement for fear of distracting Lancelot.
Malvern had Excalibur.
The sword seemed to be alive, whirring softly like the wings of a bird.
She moved closer, stepping gently. If only she could reach the sword.
Malvern grinned at Lancelot. "You know I will win this time. I have everything. And soon, I will have her as well, to do with as I please. But I find her dull. The only sport will be to kill her like a ..: "
At that, Lancelot, who had kept himself under control, pounced on a stunned Malvern. There was a smattering of applause from the audience, and Excalibur bounced a few yards from the men.
The two were locked in a mortal struggle, and only Julie knew what was at stake. What do I do? she cried to herself as she watched the battle, skirting closer.
No one touched the sword, and she clenched her fists, terrified to do nothing but panicked at the thought of doing the wrong thing, of harming Lancelot in any way.
The crowd was beaming. They assumed this was part of the act, the three people dressed in similar clothing, the men in tunics, the woman in the blue gown. No one questioned what was happening.
Julie was close enough to hear Malvern's words now, the incantations. What if they worked? He almost reached the sword, and she came close enough to kick it away.
Lancelot's features were contorted in fury.
Between his Latin, Malvern was hissing directly at him.
"You never said farewell to her, did you? Pity!"
They flipped over, the sword scooting further, and Lancelot realized that with the incantations, Malvern could very well journey to Camelot and take Lancelot with him if they were in physical contact.
As he battled, L
ancelot saw Julie from the corner of his eye. If he left her now, he would never get the chance to tell her how he felt, to tell her of his love. If they left, she would be forever safe from Malvern, and he could clear his name, reclaim his honor.
The sound of the sword was louder now, overpowering the noise of their scuffling on the marble.
He could save her, protect her… and never again see her face or hear her laughter. He would never touch her hair or inhale the fragrance of her perfume.
He saw the hem of her gown, the slipper poking from beneath the velvet.
And in a startling instant, Malvern pushed with his legs and scooped Julie up by the waist.
"Ha!" he shouted in triumph, and a few people clapped, then stopped. Even they were beginning to realize something was very wrong.
Panting, Lancelot slowly rose to his feet, his eyes on both Julie and the sword.
Malvern began chanting his Latin louder now, ever louder. But Julie, after her initial surprise, began to elbow and kick Malvern, jabbing him with every ounce of her strength.
"You jerk! Let me go!" she shouted over his chanting, and then she turned and bit him on the shoulder.
His voice hopped an octave as she did, and people began to laugh uncomfortably, enraging him further.
"You are all doomed!" he wailed.
Julie looked around and saw Lancelot, the expression on his face heartbreaking. She struggled, her legs pumping, and then she saw another face.
For an instant, she stopped, wondering if it could be her imagination. In the middle of the crowd was Merlin, in his wizard robes. A slow smile spread over his face, and her mind tumbled.
One thing you've held and given away, the other you've always held but never known.
And then he winked at her.
She gasped. That was it! All the time! The answer to his riddle… Excalibur.
And their love!
Before she could act, Lancelot rushed to Malvern, and in the shock, Malvern let go of her for just an instant, just long enough for her to grab Excalibur. The crowd fanned out further now. Excalibur's sounds were becoming human, the voices of layers of song.