There are many books around this time period, and several volumes about a St. George, and Excalibur.
Why would anyone have eleven books about a mythical sword, by eleven authors?
The book I'm reading has three hundred and forty-seven pages of facts and maps. Every battle the mythical sword had been used in, where it came from, and where the rock was located. There were several chapters about the Lady of the Lake and where the lake was reported to be located by the knight who presumably threw the sword in the lake for King Arthur, this St. George. It's pretty interesting reading.
Chapter Six
I'm halfway through the third book and about that far into the brandy, when Ruth sticks her head into the room. “Hmm, Arthur, may I disturb you?” she asks cautiously.
I glance up. I swear there are still laugh lines showing on her face. “Do you always ask after you do something?” I ask peevishly.
“Please, I have an important matter to discuss with you,” she implores with knitted brows and a frown. She doesn't advance into the room, so I meet her at the doorway. “Did you hear the phone ring?”
I'd been too engrossed in the book. “No, I didn't.”
Turning, she glides back to the dining room phone. The receiver is lying on the sideboard. “It's Commander Dobie, and I think you should listen to him. Please?” The beseeching look Ruth gives me reminds me of those old Marlena Dietrich movies, where everything's so important. You know, end of the world, bounced checks, or the grocer's out of caviar. Now me, I worry about toilet paper.
Have you ever tried to use one of those corn cobs? No wonder the pioneers were so tough.
Picking up the antique receiver, I acknowledge, “Yes, Dobie, go ahead.”
“Uh, Merlin, er Arthur, we have a situation at Heathrow Airport, and the doctors think you may be persuaded to help.” Dobie doesn't sound as pretentious now.
“Spell it out, Dobie. I'm all ears,” I say snidely. Placing her hand on my arm, Ruth shakes her head no. With a sigh, I say, “Sorry, Commander, go ahead.”
“About forty minutes ago, a plane began boarding for Tehran. Several terrorists got on board, or maybe they already were, with weapons and explosives. They're demanding we bring their leader out to the plane and release him. They claim they'll kill one passenger every five minutes until he's released. They've already killed one man and dumped his body from the plane.”
Rubbing my forehead, I look down at Ruth. “How many terrorists are there?”
“We think four, maybe five,” Dobie answers. “Their leader is in prison for murder, terrorism, and attempted skyjacking. All capital crimes.”
“Commander, you don't have capital punishment,” I remind him with a frown.
“Capital punishment is life in prison,” he explains, sounding offended.
“If I get the terrorists off the plane, what will happen to them?” I ask, leaning one hip against the sideboard.
“They'll go to trial for murder and hijacking, life.”
“Unless their government protests, you mean.”
“No, Arthur,” the Commander disagrees, “the leader has been in custody for several months, and we'll not release him without good cause.”
Ruth still has her hand on my arm, with that pleading look in her eyes. “Please, Arthur; do this job for the passengers, for yourself, hell for me.” When she looks like that, I doubt the Devil could say no. Besides, I'm getting bored.
Rubbing my forehead again, I start formulating a plan. “Dobie, have the terrorist leader brought to the plane right away. Dr. Burns and I will be there shortly.”
“We've never given into terrorists before, Merlin,” Dobie protests.
“And you won't now,” I reassure him. “Just get him there. I'll also require ten men, armed and willing to shoot.”
You can hear the wheels in Dobie's head turning. “What are you up to, Merlin?” he asks guardedly.
“Commander, you called me. Now, if you want my help, get the leader and ten armed men at
Why would anyone have eleven books about a mythical sword, by eleven authors?
The book I'm reading has three hundred and forty-seven pages of facts and maps. Every battle the mythical sword had been used in, where it came from, and where the rock was located. There were several chapters about the Lady of the Lake and where the lake was reported to be located by the knight who presumably threw the sword in the lake for King Arthur, this St. George. It's pretty interesting reading.
Chapter Six
I'm halfway through the third book and about that far into the brandy, when Ruth sticks her head into the room. “Hmm, Arthur, may I disturb you?” she asks cautiously.
I glance up. I swear there are still laugh lines showing on her face. “Do you always ask after you do something?” I ask peevishly.
“Please, I have an important matter to discuss with you,” she implores with knitted brows and a frown. She doesn't advance into the room, so I meet her at the doorway. “Did you hear the phone ring?”
I'd been too engrossed in the book. “No, I didn't.”
Turning, she glides back to the dining room phone. The receiver is lying on the sideboard. “It's Commander Dobie, and I think you should listen to him. Please?” The beseeching look Ruth gives me reminds me of those old Marlena Dietrich movies, where everything's so important. You know, end of the world, bounced checks, or the grocer's out of caviar. Now me, I worry about toilet paper.
Have you ever tried to use one of those corn cobs? No wonder the pioneers were so tough.
Picking up the antique receiver, I acknowledge, “Yes, Dobie, go ahead.”
“Uh, Merlin, er Arthur, we have a situation at Heathrow Airport, and the doctors think you may be persuaded to help.” Dobie doesn't sound as pretentious now.
“Spell it out, Dobie. I'm all ears,” I say snidely. Placing her hand on my arm, Ruth shakes her head no. With a sigh, I say, “Sorry, Commander, go ahead.”
“About forty minutes ago, a plane began boarding for Tehran. Several terrorists got on board, or maybe they already were, with weapons and explosives. They're demanding we bring their leader out to the plane and release him. They claim they'll kill one passenger every five minutes until he's released. They've already killed one man and dumped his body from the plane.”
Rubbing my forehead, I look down at Ruth. “How many terrorists are there?”
“We think four, maybe five,” Dobie answers. “Their leader is in prison for murder, terrorism, and attempted skyjacking. All capital crimes.”
“Commander, you don't have capital punishment,” I remind him with a frown.
“Capital punishment is life in prison,” he explains, sounding offended.
“If I get the terrorists off the plane, what will happen to them?” I ask, leaning one hip against the sideboard.
“They'll go to trial for murder and hijacking, life.”
“Unless their government protests, you mean.”
“No, Arthur,” the Commander disagrees, “the leader has been in custody for several months, and we'll not release him without good cause.”
Ruth still has her hand on my arm, with that pleading look in her eyes. “Please, Arthur; do this job for the passengers, for yourself, hell for me.” When she looks like that, I doubt the Devil could say no. Besides, I'm getting bored.
Rubbing my forehead again, I start formulating a plan. “Dobie, have the terrorist leader brought to the plane right away. Dr. Burns and I will be there shortly.”
“We've never given into terrorists before, Merlin,” Dobie protests.
“And you won't now,” I reassure him. “Just get him there. I'll also require ten men, armed and willing to shoot.”
You can hear the wheels in Dobie's head turning. “What are you up to, Merlin?” he asks guardedly.
“Commander, you called me. Now, if you want my help, get the leader and ten armed men at
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