Fall of Knight by Peter David

built, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. And ever since the large black man had taken to shaving his head, thus shearing away the vestiges of gray therein, he might have appeared anywhere from thirty or sixty to the unknowing eye. No one would have pegged him as being a thousand years old, thanks to the effects of drinking from the Holy Grail.
    Arthur had recognized the Grail instantly, of course, when he saw it hanging at Percival’s side. It had resumed its form of the sword, and Arthur never forgot a sword that had been wielded in an attempt to kill him. Personally, he preferred the Grail’s form of the cup, and still didn’t understand why the damned thing kept changing shape. He’d asked Merlin, but Merlin had declined to explain it to him, which was typical. As far as Arthur was concerned, it was a toss-up who was more inclined to ignore an order of his: his wife or his sawed-off mage advisor.
    Percival Moor looked distinctly sympathetic to the frustration of his liege as Arthur continued, “And these were taken via a satellite, you say? Because we’ve been very cautious. Whenever there’s the slightest sign of others—passing airplanes, boats, what-have-you—we’ve always made sure to keep Gwen hidden below.”
    “Via satellite, yes. You were photographed from orbit.”
    “The things people can do now,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head. “Do we have any idea whose satellite it was?”
    “No. The pictures simply showed up everywhere late last week. The AP, CNN, every major news outlet. They were greeted with skepticism at first, naturally. Fakery is so easy these days when it comes to photography.”
    “Oh for the days,” Ziusura said, “when seeing was believing.”
    “True. Speaking of which, how did they know that these were recent photographs? They could have been taken anytime when Gwen was ‘officially’ alive, and simply never been published before.”
    Percival reached over and tapped one of the photos, one that had clearly been taken from a higher altitude. “This one. The ship’s name and registry are clearly visible. The Associated Press checked it through and confirmed that you purchased the vessel after the shooting, not before.”
    “Wonderful.”
    “This is my fault.”
    Arthur turned toward Gwen, his face darkening. “Gwen, could you please stop saying that…”
    “Merlin suggested that we just take up residence in your magically protected home at Belvedere Castle in Central Park!” she pointed out. “No amount of modern technology would have been able to find us there! But me, no, I had to say that I’d feel claustrophobic living out the rest of my days there. That I felt as if we had to stay out, move around, see what we could of the world without it seeing us. And look what happened.”
    “Gwen, there’s nothing we can do about it. What’s done is done, and indulging in recriminations is simply an unproductive waste of time. What we really have to ask ourselves is: What now?”
    “Why does there have to be anything now?” said Gwen. “So the word is out that I’m up and around. So what? So people will call it a miracle, and eventually they’ll move on to something else. Why do we have to be concerned about this at all?”
    “Don’t be an idiot,” said Ziusura.
    Arthur shot an angry glance at him. “With all respect to my elders, Old Man…I will not have you addressing my wife that way.”
    “I wouldn’t address her that way if she weren’t being an idiot.”
    The king started to rise from the table, but Gwen put a hand on his, and said gently, “Arthur…it’s okay. He’s right. I am being an idiot. At the very least, I’m being self-delusional.”
    “No, you’re not,” he said, even as he sat back down.
    “Yes, I am, and I love you madly, darling, you know that. But feel free to verbally slap me around sometimes, because I deserve it.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We can’t just ignore this because everyone and his