Magic Kingdom for Sale—Sold! (15 page)

Ben stared upward into the trees beseechingly. “You have such a way with words, Questor.”

“Yes, but you see, High Lord, it doesn’t have to be that way—that’s what I have been trying to explain to you. A King of strength and wisdom can restore Landover to the way it once was. The laws can be put back—especially by someone like you, who understands the nature of laws. The treasury can be replenished, the army can be restored, and the Tarnish can be cleansed. That is why I donned the mantle of court wizard when it was discarded by my half-brother. That is why I agreed to help my half-brother seek a buyer for the throne. I even wrote the words for the notice of sale.”

“You wrote that pack of lies for the sale item in the catalogue?” Ben asked in astonishment.

“I wrote it to attract the right kind of person—one with vision and courage!” A bony finger jabbed at Ben. “And it is not a pack of lies!” The finger dropped away and the lean face tightened. “I did what was necessary, High Lord. Landover must be made new again. She has been allowed to waste away with the fragmenting of the old King’s rule, and a loss of the magic will destroy her completely.”

“We have heard this speech before, Questor,” Abernathy muttered from behind them. “Kindly put it to rest.”

The wizard shot him an irritated look. “I am speaking only what needs to be spoken. If you are weary of the speech, close your ears.”

“Questor, I’m not following your part in all of this.” Ben brought the conversation back around to the subject at hand. “If you feel so strongly about what Landover needs, then why did you let your half-brother and the old King’s son run it into the ground in the first place? What were you doing all those years that followed the death of the old King? Where were you while the throne of Landover sat vacant?”

Questor Thews held up his hands imploringly. “Please, High Lord—one question at a time!” He rubbed at his
bearded chin fretfully. “You must understand that I was not court wizard then. My half-brother was. And while I don’t like to admit it, I am not the wizard that my half-brother is. I am a poor second to him and always have been.”

“Where is my quill and scroll,” Abernathy exclaimed. “I must have this in writing!”

“I am improving, however, now that I have
become
court wizard,” Questor went on, ignoring the other. “I was without position at the court while my half-brother was in service—an apprentice grown too old to stay on, yet unable to find other work in the Kingdom. I traveled quite a bit, trying to learn something of the magics of the fairies, trying to find work to occupy my time. Some years after the old King died, my half-brother called me home again to help with the administration of the court. He advised me of his intention to leave the Kingdom and not return. He advised me that the old King’s son had decided to sell the throne and go with him. He appointed me to act as court wizard and advisor to the new King.”

He stopped, turning to face Ben. “He thought, you see, that I would cause him little trouble since I was a poor wizard to begin with and something of a failure in life. He thought that I would be so happy to have the position of court wizard that I would acquiesce to anything he wished. I let him believe that, High Lord. I pretended cooperation, because it was the only way I could aid the land. A new King was needed, if matters were to ever be set right again. I was determined to find that King. I even persuaded my half-brother to let me write the words in his sale notice that would bring that King to Landover.”

“And here I am,” Ben finished.

“Here you are,” Questor agreed.

“A million dollars light.”

“And a Kingdom richer.”

“But my money is gone, isn’t it? The contract I signed was a fraud from the beginning? Meeks and the son have
walked off with the money, and I’m stuck here for the rest of my life?”

Questor looked at him for a long time, and then he shook his head. “No, High Lord, you are not stuck here for any longer than you choose to be. The contract was valid, the escape clause was valid, and the money awaits you, if you return within ten days.”

Now it was Ben’s turn to stare. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. He studied Questor wordlessly for a moment. “You didn’t have to tell me this, you know. You could have let me think the money was gone and that I must stay.”

The wizard seemed sad. “No, I could never do that, High Lord.”

“Yes, he could,” Abernathy chimed in. “And he would, too, if he thought he could get away with it.” He squatted and scratched at his neck with his hind leg. “Do you think there are ticks in these woods?” he asked. “I hate ticks.”

They walked on in silence. Ben thought through all that Questor had told him. Old Meeks and the dead King’s son conspiring to make a quick killing by selling the throne to the Kingdom and setting themselves up in a new world with the money—it made sense, he guessed. But there was a piece to this puzzle that was still missing. The trouble was, he couldn’t figure out what that piece was. He knew it was there somewhere, but he couldn’t quite manage to put his finger on it. He exercised his lawyer’s skills in an effort to solve the problem, but the missing piece kept eluding him.

He gave up looking for it after a time. He would stumble across it sooner or later and he had a bigger problem just now, in any case. Eight of the ten days allotted him under the terms of the contract had already expired. That left him exactly today and tomorrow to decide whether or not he was going to back out of his purchase and head home again. He could do that, Questor had assured him. He believed Questor. The question was not so much whether or not he could, but whether or not he wanted to. Nothing of Landover had turned out to be the way it was advertised in the catalogue—
except, of course, in the very broadest sense. There were dragons and damsels and all of that, there was magic, and he was King over all—or about to be. But the fantasy was not what he had expected it to be; it wasn’t even close. The money he had paid seemed far too much for what he had gotten.

And yet… the plaintiff gave way to the defendant… and yet there was something indefinable about Landover that appealed to him. Most probably, it was the challenge. He hated to admit it; but if he were to be honest with himself, he had better admit it here and now. He did not like to back away from anything. He did not like to lose. Admitting that he had made a mistake in coming here, in paying one million dollars for a fantasy that truly
was
a fantasy, though not the fantasy he wished, rankled him. He was a trial lawyer with a trial lawyer’s instincts and bullheadedness, and he did not like to walk away from any kind of fight. There was surely a fight ahead for him in Landover, for the sovereignty of the throne was in shambles, and it would take one hell of an effort to restore it. Didn’t he think that he could do that? Wasn’t he capable of matching his skills against those of any of the subjects that he was expected to rule?

Miles would have told him it wasn’t worth it. Miles would have thrown up his hands and gone to civilization—to Soldier Field and elevators and taxis. His associates in the profession would have done the same.

Annie would not. Annie would have told him to tough it out and she would have stood with him. But Annie was dead.

He tightened his jaw, frowning. When he got right down to it, he was dead, too, if he gave it up now and went back. That was why he had taken the gamble in the first place and come—to give himself back his life. He still thought he could do that here; he still believed that Landover could be his home. Besides, money was only money …

But a million dollars? He could hear Miles’ exclamation of disbelief. He could see Miles throwing up his hands in disgust.

He was surprised to discover that he was smiling at the idea.

It was exactly noon when the mist and trees parted almost without warning, and the little company entered a clearing bright with sunshine, its grasses a glimmer of green, gold, and crimson. Bonnie Blues grew all about the edges of the clearing, evenly spaced and perfectly formed, and only those that nestled close against the forest beyond showed signs of the wilt that Ben had observed on his journey in. Burnished timbers of white oak formed a dais and throne at the clearing’s center. Polished silver stanchions were anchored at the corners of the dais, and in their holders were tall white candles, their wicks new. Flags of varying colors and insignia lifted from behind the dais, and all about were white velvet kneeling pads and rests.

Questor’s arm swept across the sunlit clearing. “This is the Heart, High Lord,” he said softly. “Here you shall be crowned King of Landover.”

Ben stared at the gleaming oak and silver of the throne and dais, the flags and candles, and the clipped grasses and Bonnie Blues. “It shows nothing of the Tarnish, Questor. It all looks as if it were … new.”

“The Tarnish has not yet reached the Heart, High Lord. The magic is strongest here. Come.”

They crossed in silence, slipping between the lines of velvet kneeling pads and armrests to where the throne and dais waited at the clearing’s center. Fragrant smells filled the warm midday air, and the colors of the grasses and trees seemed to shimmer and mix with liquid ease. Ben felt a sense of peace and reverence within the clearing that reminded him of the church sanctuary on Sunday morning when he had been brought to it as a boy. He was surprised to discover that he still remembered.

They reached the dais and stopped. Ben glanced slowly about. The Heart was all but deserted. A few worn-looking herdsmen and farmers, with their wives and children in tow,
stood hesitantly at the edges of the clearing, whispering together and looking uncertainly at Ben. Half a dozen hunters in woodsman’s garb clustered in a knot in the shadows of the forest, where the sunlight did not reach. A beggar, ragged in fraying leather pants and tunic, sat cross-legged at the base of an oak riddled with wilt.

Other than those few, there was no one.

Ben frowned. There was a hunted, almost desperate look in the eyes of those few that was troubling.

“Who are they?” he asked Questor quietly.

Questor looked out at the ragged gathering and turned away. “Spectators.”

“Spectators?”

“To the coronation.”

“Well, where is everybody else?”

“Fashionably late, perhaps.” Abernathy deadpanned. Behind him, the kobolds hissed softly and showed their teeth.

Ben put his hand on Questor’s shoulder and brought him about. “What’s going on, Questor? Where is everyone?”

The wizard rubbed his chin nervously. “It
is
possible that those who are coming are simply a bit late arriving, detained perhaps by something that they had not foreseen when they …”

“Wait a minute.” Ben cut him short. “Run that by me once more—’those who are coming’ did you say? Does that mean that some don’t intend to come?”

“Oh, well, I was simply using a figure of speech, High Lord. Certainly all who can come will.”

Ben folded his arms across his chest and faced the other squarely. “And I’m Santa Claus. Look, Questor, I’ve been around long enough to know a fox from a hole in the ground. Now, what’s going on here?”

The wizard shifted his feet awkwardly. “Ah … well, you see, the truth of the matter is that very few will be coming.”

“How few is very few?”

“Perhaps only a couple.”

Abernathy edged foward. “He means just the four of us,
High Lord—and those poor souls standing out there in the shadows.”

“Just the four of us?” Ben stared at Questor in disbelief. “The four of us? That’s all? The coronation of the first King of Landover in more than twenty years, and no one is coming …”

“You are not the first, High Lord,” Questor said softly.

“…but the four of us?”

“You are not the first,” the wizard repeated.

There was a long moment of silence. “What did you say?” Ben asked.

“There have been others before you, High Lord—other Kings of Landover since the death of the Old King. You are simply the latest of these to ascend the throne. I am sorry that you have to hear this now. I would have preferred that you heard it later when the coronation ceremony was …”

“How many others?” Ben’s face was flushed with anger.

“… completed, and we had … What did you say?”

“Kings, damn it! How many others have there been?”

Questor Thews squirmed. “Several dozen, perhaps. Frankly, I have lost count.”

The sound of thunder rolled from somewhere distant through the forest trees and mist. Abernathy’s ears pricked sharply.

“Several dozen?” Ben did not yet hear it. His arms dropped to his sides and the muscles of his neck corded. “I can understand why you might have lost count! I can understand as well why no one bothers to come anymore!”

“They came at first, of course,” the other continued, his voice irritatingly calm and his gaze steady. “They came because they believed. Even after they quit believing, they came for a time because they were curious. But eventually they were no longer even curious. We have had too many Kings, High Lord, who were not real.”

He gestured roughly toward the few who had assembled at the forest’s edge. “Those who come now come only because they are desperate.”

The thunder sounded again, louder this time and closer, a deep, sustained rumble that echoed through the forest and shook the earth. The kobolds hissed and their ears flattened back against their heads. Ben looked about sharply. Abernathy was growling.

Questor seized Ben’s arm. “Climb onto the dais, High Lord! Go, quickly!” Ben hesitated, frowning. “Go!” the wizard snapped, shoving. “Those are demons that come!”

That was reason enough for Ben. The kobolds were already scampering ahead, and he went after them. The thunder reverberated all about them, shaking trees and earth.

“It appears that you will have your audience after all, High Lord,” Abernathy said as he bounded up the dais steps on all fours, nearly losing the ceremonial robes and chains of office.

Ben went up the steps behind him, glancing back over his shoulder anxiously. The Heart was deserted save for the four of the little company. The farmers, herdsmen, their families, the hunters, and the beggar had all scattered into the concealing shadows of the forest. The mist and gloom of the surrounding trees seemed to press in tightly against the sunlit clearing.