Knight Life (25 page)

    
Arthur chuckled softly. “Not that I'd care to share.”

    
There were befuddled looks among the journalists. “You ... could tell us ... but you won't? Were you a Don or something?”

    
“No, no, I've always been an Arthur,” he said, which generated a laugh. It was obvious to Merlin that Arthur had no clue why what he'd said was funny, but his polite smile made it look as if he had been going for a joke. But Percival, standing just to his left, very softly murmured something in his ear in such a way that no one save Merlin noticed. Imperceptibly, comprehension dawned on Arthur's face and he added, “I assure you, my activities have stayed solidly on the side of the law.”

    
“Then why won't you say?” asked another reporter.

    
To Merlin's surprise, Gwen came forward. She stood to one side of the podium. “Modesty forbids Mr. Penn from doing so. I'm Gwen Queen, Mr. Penn's press aide.” (
Since when?
Merlin wondered.) “He could cite you chapter and verse of all his accomplishments, but the problem is that he would be accused of stretching the truth. And we've all seen just how destructive such accusations can be. Although, guys, y'know,” she said conversationally, “I have to admit, I never understood why you guys make such a big deal about that. Any political campaign, for mayor, governor, even president ... all it is, really, is one big,
long job interview. That's all it is. Except instead of having one potential boss, a politician has millions. And how many people out there have ‘beefed up' their resumes, made themselves sound better than they are, in order to make themselves more impressive? Including most of you guys.” There was some appreciative, acknowledging laughter from the reporters. “See? That doesn't mean that you're a bad guy, or a nasty guy, or a guy who's not trustworthy. It just means that you're human and that you really, really want the job because you know that—once you've got it—you can be terrific in it.” Abruptly Gwen seemed to really fully understand that all eyes were upon her and she looked embarrassed to have that much attention. “I'm ... I'm sorry, I'll shut up now.”

    
“No, Gwen, that was very well said,” Arthur told her approvingly.

    
Merlin rolled his eyes. Still he had to admit that Gwen had deftly deflected, and dealt with, a question that could have provided a sticking point. Because Arthur, despite Merlin's best advice to the contrary, was resolved to be utterly candid and not lie.

    
Throughout the rest of the press conference, impressively, Arthur stuck to that vow. He answered every question, and if it was about a potentially touchy subject, he deadpanned the absolute truth and usually got an amused reaction from his audience. Remarkable.

    
One reporter said, “Arthur, I'd just like to toss out a few hot topics, and find out how you stand on them.”

    
“Let's find out together,” said Arthur.

    
“Prayer in school, for example.”

    
Arthur shrugged. “You mean before a difficult examination?”

    
“No,” said the reporter, unsure whether Arthur was joking or not—a state most reporters would find themselves in during the months to come. “I mean organized prayer.”

    
“Oh, of course! Organized prayer in the morning, that
sort of thing. Well, I've never been one to stand in the way of how someone wishes to worship. However, I recall reading something in the Declara—no, the Constitution, isn't it? About separation of church and state. It would seem to me that prayer and church are usually equated, aren't they?” The reporter nodded, and Arthur smiled. “Well, schools aren't churches. However,” and he smiled that charming, impossible to hate smile, “the ultimate, sacred temple that all of us have is our own body. That place of worship is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Prayer can be held there, in private, in a sincere fashion, without violating any constitution, now, can't it.”

    
“But it's not that simple,” said the reporter.

    
“Then it should be. What else would you like to know about?”

    
“Your stand on abortion?”

    
Arthur shuddered. “Terrible mess. None of my bloody business, though, what a woman does with her body.”

    
“Are you in favor, then, of state money and government money going to fund abortions?”

    
“I imagine it's better than feeding the poor little buggers, isn't it, once they're born into unwanted and miserable situations?”

    
The reporters looked around at each other. One of them whistled silently.

    
“Are you concerned, sir, that some pro-lifers may find your attitude, well ... callous? That you're sentencing unborn children to death?”

    
Arthur regarded him oddly. “I have seen more death, son, than you could possibly imagine. Not to become maudlin, but I value life no less than does anyone else. But life is difficult enough when you come into it wrapped in the arms of a mother who wants you. Coming into it unwanted is more than any helpless infant should have to bear.” His eyes misted over. “I was ... walking a hill once, when I was a young man. And I tripped over
something. I got up, dusted myself off, and chided myself for my clumsiness, for I had walked that path a hundred times. Then I saw that I had tripped over the body of an infant. It was still covered in the blood in which it had been birthed, and there were footprints on either side of it. The mother had ...” He took a breath. “The mother had given birth, there in the road, and simply left the child behind. And there it had died, cold, unwanted ... alone. Alone.” He was silent for a moment. No one dared say anything. Then, more softly, he said, “It used to happen routinely, long ago. Unwanted children left exposed upon a hillside. Or women bleeding from their bellies, thanks to the tender mercies of charlatans pretending to be doctors. At a time such as that people prayed for the knowledge to prevent such monstrosities and outrages. Now we have it, it would be equally as monstrous not to use it. Yes, money to help those unfortunate women, when needed. But most of the time, I don't believe it should be.”

    
This garnered confused looks. “Why?” asked one reporter, speaking pretty much for all of them.

    
“Why, the man should pay for it. That's certainly a law I'd like to see. If, thanks to available choices today, the woman decides to have an abortion, the man should bear that cost.”

    
“Why shouldn't the woman share the cost?”

    
“Because the man can't share the physical pain and hazards of the abortion, so at the very least he should be responsible for the entire cost of the procedure. At the very least, I'd wager men would give at least a modicum of thought to putting a woman at risk of pregnancy.”

    
“You are aware,” said one reporter with a half-smile, “that some of your attitudes may be regarded as controversial.”

    
“Yes. I suppose so. Common sense usually is. That's a bit of an oxymoron, isn't it? ‘Common sense.' Seems rather
uncommon, really.” He pointed to another reporter. “Yes?”

    
“Gun control?”

    
“Ah. Yes, I've been thinking about that one. Seems to me it's based on the entire ‘militia' business. Fine. Anyone who owns a gun should have to belong to a militia. Otherwise I don't see any reason for them to have one.”

    
“Self-protection.”

    
“Get a sword. Broadsword, preferably. Builds the upper torso nicely, and children can't lift them because they're too heavy.”

    
More puzzled looks. “Sir, many people feel that they should have guns to protect themselves against a potential government gone bad.”

    
“Yes, I've heard that. People don't trust the government. It's odd, though. If they don't trust the government, how is it they know that they can speak against it with impunity? They must trust it on
some
level. Besides, the entire matter is nonsense, if you ask me, which, I suppose, you have. If the government goes bad, handguns won't save you. Better to work together to support a good government than arm oneself against a bad one.”

    
“Sir, there are many facts which gun advocates can present—”

    
“First thing you'll have to learn about me,” said Arthur reasonably, leaning over the podium. “I never want to get bogged down with facts. Facts get in the way of decisions. Give me a basic summary of the situation and I will generally decide,” and he tapped his chest, “based on what I feel here. I would wager that others will bog themselves down with umpteen reports and countless charts and the like, and it will all still boil down to the basic feeling of what's right and what's wrong.” He smiled. “After all, it beats trial by combat. Next question?”

    
“Mr. Penn,” one reporter said, “I'd like to go back to the abortion question for a moment. Just out of curiosity ...
have
you
ever gotten a woman pregnant and, if so, did you pay for the abortion?”

    
Dead silence.

    
Arthur sighed deeply, but he never lowered his gaze. “Yes ... when I was a very young man, a long time ago ... I impregnated a young woman. I could cite you chapter and verse how I was seduced into it, and how it was her doing, not mine, and it would be true to a point ... but only to a point. Ultimately, one takes responsibility for one's actions. Abortion was not an option, nor was marriage. Had it been, I would have pursued either. As it was, well ...” He let out a long, unsteady breath. “To forestall any further questions ... I have not seen the young woman in many, many years, and the offspring died. But I can tell you in all honesty—which is the only way I know how to deal with matters—that not a day goes by where I don't think of him, and dwell upon the many ways in which I wish things could have gone differently. Then again ... what else can anyone, particularly someone who calls himself a potential leader, do, other than try to impart his own mistakes to others so that they will learn from his errors and not commit the same ones. Next question.”

A
RTHUR, GWEN, MERLIN
,
Percival, Buddy, and Elvis sat draped around various parts of the meeting room. Merlin sat upright and cross-legged while the others were fairly at ease. Buddy was stirring a Bloody Mary with his finger. The others were drinking soda or iced tea.

    
The reporters had left some time ago to file their stories, and everyone in the room seemed concerned about what would be said. Everyone except Merlin and Arthur.

    
“I did my best,” said Arthur reasonably. “If they don't like what I had to say, what am I supposed to do? Be sorry that I said it?” He shook his head. “No, they're going to have to warm to me or not, based on who I am.”

    
Gwen smiled. “If they knew who you were, they'd vote for you in an instant.”

    
“Would they?” asked Arthur, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Do you think so? My earlier endeavors hardly ended in glowing triumph, now did they?”

    
“Oh, people remember what they want to remember,” said Gwen. She stood and walked over to Arthur's side, sitting on the arm of his chair. “After all is said and done, most people remember Camelot as a time of achievement and pride. I mean, the happiest times this country remembers were with Kennedys' whole Camelot thing.”

    
“Ah!” declared Arthur. “Merlin said that to me once. Didn't you, Merlin? You see—the two of you do see eye-to-eye every now and again.”

    
Merlin made a face. Then he said, “Arthur, I think it best that you spend the night—the next few nights, in fact—in your Bronx place.”

    
“Oh, Merlin, is that really necessary?” said Arthur unhappily. “It's so bloody small. The castle is really so much better.”

    
“Arthur, try to be reasonable. It wouldn't be good form for the press to discover that the Independent mayoral candidate makes his home in a pile of transdimensional rocks in Central Park.”

    
Elvis perked up slightly and said, “Sounds okeedokee to me.”

    
“Proof enough,” said Merlin tartly. “Arthur, it's been set up for you, and I suggest that you try to make use of it. If all goes well, the press is going to become intensely interested in such minutiae as how you like to have your English muffins for breakfast. And if you have mysterious comings and goings, it could prompt digging in areas we'd much rather leave undug.”

    
“All right, all right,” sighed Arthur. “Gwen, let's go.”

    
“He's going to have a roommate!” yelled Merlin. “That's just ruddy wonderful!”

    
Arthur's tone was warning. “Merlin ...”

    
But a gentle touch rested on his arm. “No, Arthur, Merlin's right,” said Gwen reasonably. “Your style is going to be somewhat ... unorthodox for a number of voters. Perhaps we shouldn't try to drop too much on them right away. I'll find someplace.”

    
“She could bunk in with us,” offered Buddy.