Gwendy’s Final Task

Winston points a finger at a long, dark scar of barren land a few miles directly in front of them. Tiny black figures, like busy ants in a child’s ant farm, scurry back and forth in staggered lines. “What’s that over there?”

“That,” the man says, a satisfied smile creeping across his face, “is your diamond mine.”

“Really?”

“Really.” For the first time since he stood up from the park bench there’s a glimmer of the old Gareth Winston. His eyes look greedy—and hungry.

“And over there,” his new friend continues, pointing to a sprawling castle sitting atop a hilltop overlooking the ocean, “is your home. One of many, I might add. For this residence alone, you employ—a rather kind way of wording it considering you tender none of them a salary—more than two hundred men and women from a nearby village. In exchange for their loyalty and labor, you might allow them to grow their own food tax-free.”

“Of course,” Gareth mutters. In spite of his amazement, his businessman’s brain is ticking over. “And possibly medical care. People who think loyalty can’t be bought are idiots. There’d have to be some sort of retirement benefits … at least for those close to me …”

Bobby laughs. The teeth that are momentarily exposed are not those of an angel; yellow and crooked, they are the teeth of a rat. “See? You’ve already begun to plan. Given your extraordinary mind, you should be quite the successful ruler. And as the years, the decades … the centuries! … roll by, you will become not a man but a god to those you rule over.”

“And there are women?” Winston asks, looking and sounding more and more like his old self with each passing minute. “Not that I’ve ever had much luck with that.”

“Luck plays no role here. Not when you’re the king. Not when you’re young and handsome and strong.”

Winston laughs. “Not so young and strong anymore. And never very handsome, I’m afraid.”

“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Winston.” He gestures behind them. “Take a look.”

When Winston turns and sees the tall, ornate mirror—with its glittering gold trim and polished, hand-carved oak legs—positioned in the long grass, his mouth drops open. When he sees his reflection in the mirror, he gasps.

He appears as young and slim as the morning he drove away to college.