Part VIII:
Artemis walked up the marble steps and into the lobby that was, again, populated not by guests, but by workers that seemed to be doing very little other than standing around. Every way he looked, it seemed that somebody was at the ready to offer him assistance. The lobby, or common area, of the resort was absolutely stunning. The ceiling of the main room was some three stories high and rounded, similar to the Capitol Building. There was a variety of art that adorned the ceiling, none of which Artemis could instantly identify with anyone in particular.
Paintings and photos of all shapes and sizes were scattered about as well, but nothing of the Rembrandt or Picasso era, as far as he could tell. The great mystique of the large room, however, was in the vaulted glass walls that overlooked the property in all directions. While all this should have made Artemis happy and instantly at peace, it somehow caused the exact opposite reaction within him. For now, he was able to suppress any discontent he may have been feeling and walked up to what appeared to be the front desk, although there was nothing “desk-ish” about it. It was merely a man standing at a podium, rifling through some papers in front of him.
The man, who had an air about himself that demanded precise cognition, lowered the monocle he had lifted to his right eye and spoke as if the words were arising from the depths of a deep cave, “You must be Artemis. I trust your entry was no less than pleasurable? I was watching your arrival on my monitor.”
Artemis, not sure if he was more focused on the tone of the man’s voice or the strange words carried along with it, replied, in an almost automatic way, “That was nothing. Nothing is worse than the ‘blue glove’ treatment at the airport.” After saying this, he let out a roar of laughter that would have embarrassed a lesser man.
To be continued…
