He mixed a Glenlivet and water in his apartment and retired to the front room, seating himself on the sofa and staring out the window into the lights of the city. After a time, he pulled the Christmas Wishbook from Rosen’s from his briefcase and opened it to the item on Landover. He had been thinking about it all day; he had been thinking of nothing else since he had first laid eyes on it last night.
What if it were real?
He sat there for a long time, the glass in his hand, the catalogue open before him, thinking about the possibility.
His present life, he felt, was at a standstill. Annie was dead. The profession of law — for him, at least — was just as dead. There were more cases to be taken, more courtroom battles to be won, more Goliaths for David to slay. But the excesses and deficiencies of the legal system would still be there. In the end, he would simply be going through the same ritual with its frustrations’and disappointments, and it would all be meaningless. There had to be more for him in this life.
There had to be.
He looked at the colorful rendering of the knight in battle with the dragon, the damsel in the castle keep, the wizard casting his spell, the fairy folk looking on. Landover. A dream out of a Wishbook.
Escape into your dreams…
For one million dollars, of course. But he had the money. He had money enough to buy it three times over. His father and mother had both been wealthy and he had enjoyed a lucrative practice. The million dollars was there — if that was the way he chose to spend it.
And there was the interview with this fellow Meeks. That puzzled him. What was the purpose of the interview — to screen applicants? Did they anticipate there would be that many and was there some reason to choose among them? Perhaps, where a King was to be selected, there was.
He took a deep breath. What sort of King would he make? He had the price of the kingship — but so would others have it. He was physically and mentally fit — but others would be, too. He was experienced in dealing with people and with laws — others might not be. He was compassionate. He was honorable. He was farsighted.
He was crazy.
He finished off the drink, closed the Wishbook, and went into the kitchen to make dinner. He took his time about it, preparing a rather extravagant beef and vegetable dish, and served it to himself with wine. When the meal was finished, he moved back to the front room again and reseated himself on the sofa before the Wishbook.
He already knew what he was going to do. Perhaps he had known all along. He needed something to believe in again. He needed to recapture the magic that had first drawn him to the practice of law — the sense of wonder and excitement it had brought to his life. Most of all, he needed a challenge — because that was what gave life meaning.
Landover could offer him that.
He was not yet certain that it would, of course. Perhaps it was all an elaborate charade of the sort envisioned by Miles, where the dragons were large iguanas and the knights and wizards were all supplied by Central Casting. Perhaps the dream was a sham, an imitation of what the imagination would have it truly be. Even if it were all real — if it were all as described, all as the artist had rendered it to be — still it might be less than the dream. It might be as ordinary in truth as his present life.
Yet the gamble was worth it, because he had seen the parameters of his present life and there were no unknowns left in it. And somehow, in some unexplainable way, he knew that whatever choices he might make now, with Annie gone the only wrong choice he might make was to make no choice at all.
He crossed back to the bar and made himself an Irish Mist. He toasted himself solemnly in the mirror and drank.