“The crystal is his, High Lord,” Questor explained. “He gave it to me when he departed Landover. I warm it with my hands, and his face appears within it. I can speak with him, then.”
Ben studied the crystal wordlessly for a moment, looking into the depthless facets, peering through the rainbow of colors that shimmered within. The crystal hung from a silver chain fastened to a ring screwed into its apex.
He looked at Questor. “Has Meeks any other source of contact with Landover?”
The wizard shook his head. “I think not.”
Ben hefted the crystal experimentally. “Do you have enough faith in me to give the crystal up, Questor?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“The crystal is yours, High Lord,” the wizard replied at once.
Ben nodded and smiled faintly. He passed the crystal back to Questor. “Summon up Mr. Meeks for me, would you, please?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Questor placed the crystal within his palms and cupped them together. Willow, Abernathy, and kobolds pressed close. Ben felt his heart race. He had not expected to encounter Meeks so soon again; but now that it was about to happen, he looked forward to it eagerly.
Questor opened his palms carefully and picked the crystal by its chain. Meeks peered out of the crystal’s center, surprise mirrored in his sharp eyes.
Ben bent down so that his eyes were even with those of Meeks. “Good day, Mr. Meeks,” he greeted. “How are things in New York?”
The craggy old face went dark with anger, the eyes baleful as they stared back. Ben had never seen such hatred.
“Don’t feel like talking?” Ben smiled his best courtroom smile. “Can’t say that I blame you. Things aren’t working out all that well for you, are they?”
The black-gloved hand came up in warning as Meeks tried to say something.
“No, don’t bother answering,” Ben cut him short. “Nothing you have to say would interest me. I just want you to know one thing.” He took the crystal from Questor and held it up before him. The smile disappeared. “I just want you to know that the wheels are about to come off your wagon!”
Then he carried the crystal to a stand of rocks that jutted through the earth of a nearby hillside and smashed the orb against them until it was reduced to fragments. He ground the fragments into the earth with his boot.
“Good-bye, Mr. Meeks,” he said quietly.
He turned. His companions were watching him, standing in a knot where he had left them. He walked slowly back to where they waited. Their eyes remained riveted on him.
“I guess that’s the last of Mr. Meeks,” he offered. “It appears that we are back to square one.”
“High Lord, please allow me to say something,” Questor asked. He was agitated, but he composed himself. “High Lord, you cannot give up.” He glanced awkwardly at the others. “Perhaps I have lost everyone’s trust because of what I have done. Perhaps it would be best if I were to go no further with you. I accept that. But you, at least, must go on. Abernathy, Bunion, Parsnip, and Willow, too, will stay with you. They believe in you, and they are right to do so. You have the wisdom, compassion, strength, and courage of which they spoke. But you have something else, High Lord Ben Holiday. You have something that no other King of Landover has shown for many a year — something a King of Landover must have. You have determination. You refuse to quit when another man would. A King needs that quality most of all.”
He paused, his stooped form straightening. “I did not lie when I told you that my half-brother sees that determination in you and is frightened by it.” He shook his head admonishingly. “Do not quit now. High Lord. Be the King that you have wished to be!”
He had finished, and he waited for Ben’s response. Ben glanced at the others — at Willow, the fire in her eyes a reflection of more than her trust; at Abernathy, sardonic and wary; at Parsnip and Bunion, their monkey faces sharp and cunning with hidden knowledge. Each face was like an actor’s mask in some bizarre piece of theater, and the play a thing not yet finished. Who were they really, he wondered, and who was he?