Knight Life by Peter David Read Free Book Online

to arrest me for it.”
    Â Â Â Â  “First rule of being a New York cop is knowing when to look the other way.”
    Â Â Â Â  “I’ll remember that,” said Arthur. “Good evening to you, sir.” He watched the police officer walk off and then turned and headed into the park.
    I RON-SPINE OWENS SPUN on his heel and went on his way whistling an aimless tune, his hands resting in a relaxed manner behind him. It was not until he was eight blocks away that he suddenly realized he had just totally violated the “Iron-Spine” character—the ultimate “tough cop”—he had created for himself and maintained all these years. With just a few choice words this lone, bearded man had taken Owens firmly in hand, and in moments had him rolling over and playing dead. And Owens hadn’t minded!
    Â Â Â Â  He considered for a moment running back after the man, challenging him, rousting him, maybe even finding something to arrest him for. Just to gain back something indefinable that he’d lost. But when he even considered the notion, he was sufficiently dissuaded from it just by imagining the scowl of disapproval the man would give him. Owens whistled softly in awe. “I don’t know just what that man has going for him,” he said, waiting for the light to change at the corner of Fifty-first Street and Fifth Avenue, “but whatever it is, I wish I could bottle it and sell it. I’d sure as hell make me a fortune.” A woman with a dachshund on a leash looked curiously at the police officer mumbling to himself, and walked quickly away, shaking her head.
    A RTHUR WALKED BRISKLY through the park, the soles of his shoes slapping with satisfying regularity against the blacktop. A cyclist sped by him in the oppositedirection and didn’t even afford him a glance.
    Â Â Â Â  Although Officer Owens was dwelling upon the encounter with Arthur, Arthur was giving the exchange no thought whatsoever. Instead his energies were focused on the young woman he’d encountered earlier; the one who looked lost somehow. The one who’d threatened him with a mace, although she didn’t seem to be carrying one. The one over whom he’d made a total jackass of himself by tumbling down the stairs of the subway in full armor. The one who reminded him so much of …
    Â Â Â Â  ... of her.
    Â Â Â Â  Gwynyfar … how are they spelling it now? Guinevere, yes. His queen.
    Â Â Â Â  He tried to shake the notion out of his mind in the way that a cat would thoroughly vibrate his body to toss off every last drop of water. First and foremost, it couldn’t be … her. She was gone, long gone. Second, she didn’t look all that much like her … well, maybe a little bit.
    Â Â Â Â  All right, a lot.
    Â Â Â Â  But then again, he hadn’t seen her for centuries. All he had in his mind’s eye was an idealized vision of a woman with beauty that was not so much surface as it was depth. His beloved Guinevere had never, upon first glance, appeared a great beauty. Instead her beauty had come from a deep, inner greatness of spirit that became more and more visible the longer people spent time with her. Individuals who met her and initially thought her little more than plainly pretty, came away believing that Helen of Troy would throw herself to her death upon meeting Arthur’s queen, convinced that the legendary Helen’s beauty had met not only its match, but its superior.
    Â Â Â Â  Still, this poor, befuddled, even frightened New York woman … she had some of that same old Guinevere magic about her. Then again, Arthur had to admit to himself, he might wind up feeling that way about any woman he encountered just because he missed his beloved Jenny so much. He resolved to dwell upon it no more; itwas simply not worth the mental aggravation. Jenny was just gone, that was all, long gone. And no