So it had been agreed. They'd go on Saturday morning.

Their best idea, however, had been to start their own Roundtable. It still amazed Joby that they hadn't thought of it sooner. They weren't going to tell anyone about their secret quest, of course, but if they knighted a bunch of their friends and got them to swear to fight the wicked and defend the weak, they'd have more than enough might to keep Lindwald in his place.

The idea had received mixed reviews so far at school, but Johnny Mayhew and Peter Blackwell had already signed up enthusiastically, which meant Duane Westerlund was in as well, because he did everything Peter did. That was only five, but Joby was sure more would want in once they saw how cool it was. There was even a big, round table in the library, which was always open after school. They'd agreed to have their first meeting there on Monday afternoon when Joby's detention would finally be over.

When Laura had heard about it, she and Paula Guarachi had asked to join too. But the boys had all agreed that girls could not be knights. Joby felt kind of sorry for Laura, but she was pretty cool, especially for a girl, and he was sure she'd get over it.

In the meantime, Joby had been getting ready for their first meeting by writing ideas for the Roundtable in his book. He'd come up with six already: 1. The meetings should be secret!-which is hard in the library, but maybe we could just shut up if someone comes until they leave again.

2. The knights should vote on everybody's ideas.

3. The knights should be like secret helpers and do good things for people without getting caught like Santa Claws.

4. The knights should always stick up for each other and help anyone who is getting picked on more than they should.

5. There should be tests everybody has to pass to get in. Even me and Benjamin.

6. The knights should have contests on weekends in the woods to get better at sports and fighting.

Joby read over his list with satisfaction, taking special note of words whose spelling he'd had to correct. Then he wrote: "7. The knights should all have bycicles." He thought for a moment, chewing the end of his pencil, then added, "And maybe help any guy who passes the tests to get one if he dosn't have it all redy."

Just then, the school bell rang, commanding everyone back to class, but as Joby stood to go inside, he found Lindwald standing in his way.

"Whatcha got in the book?" Lindwald sneered. "Names of all yer boyfriends?"

A knight must practice, Joby reminded himself, and walked around him without even meeting his eyes.

Saturday morning, after forcing down two pancakes and a few forkfuls of scrambled egg to please his mother, Joby bounded from the table, ran outside, leapt on his bike, and lit out for Benjamin's house.

As Joby arrived, his friend peddled out to meet him so that they didn't even have to slow down. Then they rode and rode and rode, until houses gave way to fields of dead corn or bare, furrowed dirt already showing the first green fuzz of winter grass. This was so much farther than Joby had ever ridden, it seemed as if they might really be riding all the way to Camelot.

"You sure you know where we're going?" Joby called to Benjamin.

"See that?" Benjamin shouted, pointing at a distant oasis of wide lawns, trees, and dark buildings nestled beneath the round dry hills ahead of them. "That's it!"

Twenty minutes later, they rode between the seminary's massive wrought-iron gates onto park-like grounds lushly landscaped around huge brick buildings older than any Joby had ever seen. The roofs were shingled in slate, the eaves and gables trimmed in gothic masonry. The many-paned windows were glazed in wavy glass, elaborately leaded and framed; nothing at all like the aluminum-trimmed plateglass familiar to Joby. But the church itself was by far the best thing there.

Many stories tall, the building was fronted in giant stone columns and elaborate reliefs. A wide cascade of steps led up to large, richly carved triple doors of dark wood hung on heavy wrought-iron hinges. The windows were all of stained glass. One, huge and round, hung like a giant spiderweb above the doors. Intricate towers rose to either side of the building's facade, topped in pillared openings filled with bells. Joby stared up at the edifice, barely able to breathe. It was his book come to life-his dream come true!

"Come on," Benjamin said, climbing the stairs two at a time. "It's neater inside."

One of the three big doors stood open, and as they walked into the church's dark interior, Joby looked up and gaped. Nearly lost in shadow, the ceiling was a lacework of vaulted masonry impossibly high above their heads. The huge stone columns supporting it were shod and capped in marble carved to look like giant thistle leaves. Statues gazed down from domed alcoves like giants solemnly considering Joby's worthiness to interrupt their deliberations. The mysterious gloom was broken here and there by patches of soft varicolored light from the stained-glass windows. Joby had never encountered incense, but traces of its unfamiliar scent gave him shivers. This was Arthur's throne room. Peering through the shadows past rows and rows of polished benches, where he imagined the court must sit in their finery for coronations and knightings, Joby saw the royal throne itself beside a beautiful marble table. On the wall behind these, a whole other castle was carved in miniature relief around a large, richly ornamented golden box.

Joby's rapture was suddenly unsettled by an awful sight. Above the golden box hung the realistically painted sculpture of an almost naked man nailed by his hands and feet to what looked like a sawed-off telephone pole. A circle of long thorns made his forehead run with blood, and his face was clenched in pain and grief. Joby stared at this terrible thing, filled with a powerful sense of dread and wrong. Why would Arthur keep such a terrible statue? He was about to ask Benjamin when he saw, higher still, a far larger statue hovering half in silhouette between the stained-glass windows around it. The regal figure wore voluminous robes and a high, pointed crown, holding an orb in one hand and a staff in the other. It was obviously a king; and Joby was sure which one it must be.

"Arthur," he whispered reverently.

"What are you doing?" Benjamin asked.

By reflex, Joby had gone down on one knee.

"It's Arthur," he said without rising or looking away from the statue.

Benjamin followed his gaze, and said, "No it's not. It's God."

"God's a king?" Joby asked.

"I guess," Benjamin said. "Joby, you're only s'posed to kneel by the benches when you sit down, or in front of the altar. And you're s'posed to get right up again."

Joby got to his feet, realizing that Benjamin would not understand what it meant to kneel before Arthur. His friend hadn't known anything at all about Arthur before Joby had knighted him back in September.

"Where are the priests?" Joby asked.

"I don't know. Since the door was open, I thought there'd be somebody in here." Benjamin peered around uncertainly. "It's kind of spooky without the lights on. Maybe we should go try one of the school buildings."

They were turning to leave when the whisper of rustling cloth made them stop and peer back into the darkness. Something moved beside the big table at the front of the church; a column of deeper shadow seemed to pull away from the lesser gloom around it. Both boys froze, and Joby felt deadly certain they were in trouble. The tall shadow drifted toward them, its dark robes swirling as if borne on some silent, ghostly wind. Then it entered a patch of colored light, and was suddenly just a man. Joby saw Benjamin unclench and let out a gush of breath, then realized that this must be a priest.

"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.