yourself.”
“In ten days, Mr. Meeks?”
“Time enough, believe me, Mr. Holiday. If you find otherwise, simply use the key provided you to return.”
There was a long silence. “Does this mean that you have decided to offer me the purchase?” Ben asked.
Meeks nodded. “I have. I think you are eminently qualified. What do you say to that, Mr. Holiday?”
Ben looked down at the contract. “I’d like to think about it a bit.”
Meeks chuckled dryly. “The caution of a lawyer—well and good. I can give you twenty-four hours before the item becomes available to the open market once more, Mr. Holiday. My next appointment is scheduled at one o’clock tomorrow. Take longer if you wish, but I can promise nothing after one day’s time.”
Ben nodded. “Twenty-four hours should be enough.”
He reached for the contract, but Meeks slipped it quickly back. “My policy—and the store’s—is not to allow copies of our contracts out of the office prior to signing. You may, of course, examine it again tomorrow at your convenience if you decide to buy.”
Ben climbed to his feet and Meeks rose with him, tall and stooped. “You should make the purchase, Mr. Holiday,” the old man’s whispered voice encouraged. “You are the man for the job, I think.”
Ben pursed his lips. “Maybe.”
“If you decide to make the purchase, the contract will be waiting for you at the receptionist’s desk. Thirty days will be allowed to complete arrangements for payment of the list price. Upon receiving payment in full, I will make available to you instructions for undertaking the journey to Landover and assuming the throne.”
He walked Ben to the office door and opened it. “Do yourself a favor. Make the purchase, Mr. Holiday.”
The door swung closed again, and Ben stood alone.
H e walked back to the Waldorf through the noonday rush, had a leisurely lunch and retired to the lounge just off the lobby. With a yellow pad and pen in hand, he began to make notes about his interview with Meeks.
A number of things still troubled him. One of them was Meeks himself. There was something odd about that old man—something that went beyond his rough appearance. He had the instincts of a seasoned trial lawyer—hard-nosed and predatory. He was pleasant enough, but beneath the surface was a shell of armor two inches thick. The bits and pieces of conversation Ben had overheard in the reception areas and the looks he had seen in the receptionists’ faces suggested that Meeks was not the easiest man to work with.
Yet it was more than that. Ben just couldn’t seem to put his finger on what it was.
There was the problem, too, of still not having learned much of anything about Landover. No pictures, no flyers, no brochures—nothing. Too difficult to describe, Meeks had hedged. You have to see it. You have to accept the sale on faith. Ben grimaced. If their roles were switched and Meeks were the purchaser, he didn’t think for one minute that that old man would settle for what he had been told!
He hadn’t really learned anything about Landover in the interview that he hadn’t known going into it. He didn’t know where it was or what it looked like. He didn’t know anything other than what had been described in the brochure.
Escape into your dreams …
Maybe.
And maybe he would be escaping into his nightmares.
All he had to fall back on was the clause in the contract that let him out of the purchase if he chose to rescind within ten days. That was fair enough. More than fair, really. He would lose only the fifty-thousand-dollar handling fee—an expensive, but not unbearable loss. He could journey to this magical kingdom with its fairy folk, with its dragons and damsel and all, and if he found it to be any sort of ripoff, he could journey back again and reclaim his money.
Guaranteed.
He scribbled notes hastily on the pad for a moment, and then looked up suddenly and stared out across the empty lounge.
The truth was that none