The Book of Joby (12 page)

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” The priest smiled pleasantly. His charcoal hair was shot with silver, and there was a regal grace and confidence about him that seemed familiar to Joby, though he didn’t know why.

“We’re looking for Father Crombie,” Benjamin explained. “The door was open . . . I thought he might be in here.”

The priest’s expression became apologetic. “Unfortunately, Father Crombie is away at the diocesan office all day. Might anyone else do?”

“Oh,” Benjamin said in obvious disappointment.

“Have you come a long way, then?” the priest asked sympathetically.

“We just . . . We had some questions.” Benjamin shrugged. “I sort of know Father Crombie. . . . But . . . I guess it doesn’t have to be him.”

“I’m Father Morgan.” The priest smiled, extending his hand to Benjamin. “I’m just visiting, but I’d be delighted to assist you if I can. Were these
personal
questions?”

Shaking Father Morgan’s hand, Benjamin said, “This is my friend, Joby. They’re really his questions.”

“Joby! I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. How can I help?”

“Well, first,” Joby confided, seeing no reason not to get straight to the point, “we were wondering if you know how to get to Camelot.”

Father Morgan looked nonplussed, then smiled slightly.
“
Camelot,” he said, seeming amused. Joby felt himself flush. “As in
King Arthur’s
Camelot?”

“Yes! That’s it!” Joby blurted out, his embarrassment swept away in excitement. Joby had known the priest would know! His clothes, this building! Where else could it all have come from? “Have you been there? Do you know King Arthur?”

“May I ask what inspires this unusual query?” Father Morgan asked wryly.

At a loss, Joby timidly admitted that he didn’t know what a query was.

“Forgive me,” Father Morgan smiled, “I’ve embarrassed you. All I meant was, why are you asking these . . . rather remarkable questions?”

“Well . . . because . . .” Joby looked to Benjamin for help. Their quest was a secret. Somehow it had not occurred to him that anyone might ask
why
he wanted to know about Camelot. Joby felt more foolish by the minute.

“No matter,” the priest assured him. “I was merely curious. Regrettably I have never been to Camelot, nor do I know how to get there.”

“But . . . I thought—Isn’t this a castle?” Joby asked in dismay. He pointed up at the kingly statue high above the tortured man. “Isn’t that Arthur?”

The priest followed Joby’s gaze, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joby, but this is just a church, the product of an unconscionable number of collection plates; and
that
is just a statue.”

“But . . . it’s
of
Arthur, isn’t it?”

The priest shook his head again. “It’s just a bishop, Joby. A very dead bishop, at that.” He offered Joby a sympathetic smile. “I wouldn’t want to dampen your faith in Camelot, child, but I’d be lying to pretend you might find it here.”

“Oh,” Joby said, feeling terribly deflated.

“Was that your only question?” Father Morgan asked.

Joby looked at Benjamin, then shook his head, took a deep breath, and asked, “What’s the best way to fight the devil?”

Father Morgan’s brows arched high above his pale, almost icy blue eyes. “I must say, Joby, you are full of surprising questions.”

But Joby hardly heard him. Those eyes! Those
pale blue eyes
! He knew them now! The silver-shot hair, the regal bearing! Of course!

“Merlin?”
he whispered.

Father Morgan seemed surprised, then smiled shrewdly. “Do you mean me? Joby, what would a
wizard
be doing in a
church,
disguised as a
priest
?” Then he winked, and Joby knew that Father Morgan was Merlin, though why he should be disguised as a priest, he could not imagine.

“But if you want advice about fighting the devil,” Father Morgan continued, “perhaps a priest is of more help than a wizard anyway. God’s own Son once fought the devil, Joby. Did you know that?”

“God had a Son? . . . Like
me
?” Joby asked incredulously.

Father Morgan nodded.

“A
kid
whose dad was
God
?” Joby pressed, finding the idea almost absurd.

“Yes,” Father Morgan said, unsmiling.

Joby shook his head, trying to imagine his own dad being God.

“His name was Jesus, Joby; and one time He was all alone in the desert for forty days without anything to eat. Forty days! Imagine how hungry He must have been! So the devil offered Him some bread. Just one harmless piece of bread. What could be wrong with that, eh, Joby?”

Joby shrugged. He couldn’t see anything wrong with taking a piece of bread from someone, especially if you were starving.

“But Jesus wouldn’t take it, Joby.” Father Morgan smiled, driving into him
with those strange blue eyes, compelling him to listen, to hear something
between
the words,
behind
his disguise. “As hungry as He was, He denied Himself even a simple piece of bread, lest the devil use that little weakness somehow to gain power over Him.” Father Morgan smiled down on Joby. “Think on that, child. To be faithful at all, you must be absolutely faithful. Nothing less will do. If you truly want to beat the devil, you must be prepared to deny any hunger he might use to breach your defenses.” He ruffled Joby’s hair, which seemed such an un-Merlinish gesture, that Joby almost pulled away. “Are you that brave, Joby?”

Joby nodded gravely, and Father Morgan laughed. “Ah, Joby. I’m rather glad Father Crombie wasn’t here. I’d hate to have missed this chance to talk with you. I am sure you’ll give the devil quite a run for his money. Just remember to be very, very good.”

“I will,” Joby promised, bothered by a sense that, despite his smiles, Merlin was angry with him for not trying hard enough to be perfect.

“Good lad. Was that all? Or are there still other marvelous questions weighing on that noble mind of yours?”

“What is that?” Joby asked, pointing to the statue of the suffering man.

Father Morgan turned toward it, though his eyes remained cast down, and his smile fled before a frightening expression that made Joby think he should not have asked.

“That,” said Father Morgan very sternly, “is the price of failure. Remember that as well, Joby, if you intend to fight the devil.”

“Damn,”
Lucifer cursed, the clerical robes dissolving around him like smoke as he returned to his office. That had been far too dicey. Who’d have thought the boy would recognize him? The boy’s memory of that dream should have been virtually gone after so much time—had it not been for that useless wag
Lindwald.
But Lucifer had to congratulate himself on turning that surprise neatly to his own advantage. Allowing the boy to suspect “Father Morgan” of being Merlin had doubtless ensured that his poisonous advice would be taken all the more to heart. Lucifer smiled. God played a nimble game, but this time Lucifer would be nimbler.

Williamson’s surveillance was proving more valuable than Lucifer had expected. Heaven forbid they had actually gotten to that priest, Crombie.
He
was precisely the kind of interference Lucifer did
not
need. Still, Lucifer did
not
want to be pressed into playing foot soldier again. Even such fleeting personal exposure to the degrading squalor of mortal creation left him feeling unclean
for weeks. That’s what chaff like Williamson and Lindwald were there to spare him. It seemed Kallaystra would have to find him a suitable priest as well as the new fifth-grade teacher, and swiftly. Things were not going at all as he’d anticipated, not that he would tell
her
that. Lucifer did not take kindly to being caught off guard, and liked even less having others know of it.

Frank could hardly believe his ears! “Was this Ben’s idea, Joby?” he asked, trying to hide his irritation.

“No,” Joby replied hesitantly. “I just want to go to church with him. That’s all.”

“Did Ben’s parents suggest this?” Frank persisted.

“No,” Joby said again. “Are you mad at me? . . . Benjamin said you’d be
happy.
”

“We’re not mad, Joby,” his mother intervened. “I think it’s
nice
you want to go.”

“Miriam,” Frank began, but she gave him no opening.

“We’re just surprised, dear. It’s not something boys your age usually want to do, and . . . well, we’re kind of curious what you hope to find there.”

Joby shrugged uncomfortably. “
I
don’t know. It just sounds interesting, and . . . and Benjamin’s my best friend, and
he
goes. . . . So . . . I just thought I’d like to go with him tomorrow. . . . Can I?”

“Yes, of course, if you want to,” Miriam said before Frank could open his mouth.

He nearly groaned. Could she be falling back into this madness too?

“Miriam,” he said, “I think we should talk about this.”

“Me too,” she answered crisply. “Joby, may I have a moment alone with your dad, please?”

Joby nodded, and left the room looking like a boy in trouble, no matter what they’d told him.

Frank spoke up even as the door latched behind their son.

“Miriam, I—”

“You’re scaring him to death,” she cut him off, “and making him feel ashamed, which, as I recall, is why we decided to keep him away from churches to begin with.”

“I didn’t mean to scare him. You know that. It’s just—”

“I know what it’s
just,
” she interrupted again. “You must have explained it to me a hundred times before we were married. And . . . okay, I bought into it. But—”

“But
what
?” Frank cut in. “You think I was wrong now? Is that why you’re mad at me? Come on, Miriam. They’ll turn him into a neurotic little basket case who spends all his time apologizing to God just for existing; or switches his conscience off altogether just to get
them
out of his head. Is that what you want? Wait ’til he hits adolescence and they start trying to unman him with all that crap about—”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” she snapped. “Afraid they’ll
unman
your little
stud
? He’s nine, Frank!
Nine!
Not nineteen. And he’s the most rambunctious,
manly
little
war chief
in the neighborhood, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides,” she said more quietly, “the church isn’t always like it was for you. My father’s faith was at the heart of everything I loved about him; and . . . yes . . . sometimes I miss it too.”

“Why’d you stop going, then?” he asked flatly, torn between growing resentment and a sudden twinge of guilt.

“I guess . . . I guess it just didn’t matter to me as much as you did.”

“And now?” he asked, struggling with a host of confusing emotions.

“Is it still a choice?” she asked, looking up at him. “Was it ever, really?” She smiled fondly, then shook her head and laughed. “Frank, if we’re smart enough not to turn religion into Joby’s forbidden fruit, you know what will happen as well as I do. He’ll go once or twice, find out it’s boring, and forget all about it.”

Knowing she was right, Frank reached out to embrace his wife, wondering, not for the first time, if she weren’t the more sensible one after all.

When they had hugged and kissed their differences away, Frank called Joby’s name, and he came so quickly that Frank suspected he’d been listening at the door.