FIVE DAYS AGO , directly following the meeting with Skeletor, Richard had told his pilots to take a day off enjoying the delights of the K’Shetriae Kingdom and then to meet him at the Sioux City FBO. He had then jumped into a rented Grand Marquis and started driving in the direction of home. He never referred to, or thought of, John’s farm as home unless things were really bad. He imagined that the drive would do him some good. It seemed that his brain needed to be doing something and the drive ought to be a good opportunity. He had been intensely occupied the last few days, playing on the worst character flaws of both Don Donald and Skeletor: the former’s avarice and the latter’s insecurity. A performance that ought to have brought the Furious Muses down on him in full resonance. Yet they were silent. Perhaps they’d at last left him for other ex-boyfriends who stood some chance of being improved by their suggestions. So his brain was strangely empty and inactive during the four-hour drive.