The Warlock in Spite of Himself

"None." Tuan smiled. "All who come to the House of Clovis bring what little money they have. It is put into a common chest, and meat and wine given out to all according to their needs."

"And a place to sleep, I suppose?"

"Aye, and clothing. It is poor fare by a gentleman's standards; but it is great wealth to these my poor brethren."

Rod studied Tuan's face and decided the boy might have meant it when he said brethren.

He sat back and crossed his legs. "Would you call yourself a religious man?"

"I?" Tuan tried to choke back a laugh and almost succeeded. "Oh, nay! Would that I were; but I have not seen the inside of a church for three score and more Sundays!"

So, Rod noted, his motive for helping the poor probably wasn't too hypocritical, whatever else it might be.

He looked into his mug. "So you feed and clothe all these people out of the pennies they bring you, eh?"

"Nay, that is but a beginning. But with that much earnest proof of our good intentions, our noble Queen found us worthy of a livelihood."

Rod stared. "You mean the Queen is putting the lot of you on the dole?"

Tuan grinned with mischief. "Aye, though she knows not whom she aids. She knows not the House of Clovis by name, knows only that she gives the good Brom O'Berin moneys to care for her poor."

"And Brom gives it to you."

"Aye. And for his part, he is grateful that there are fewer thievings and murders among the dark alleys."

Rod nodded. "Very shrewd. And this whole setup is your idea, is it?"

"Oh, nay! 'Twas the Mocker who thought of it; but none would give ear to him."

Rod stared. "The Mocker? You mean that twisted fugitive from the late show is boss of this operation?" Tuan frowned, shaking his head. "Men will not follow him, friend Gallowglass; there is nothing of governance in him. He is host, keeping the inn, doling out goods as they are needed — a steward, and only a steward, but a good one. You will find him a sharper clerk than any; aye, even the Queen's Lord Exchequer."

"I see, just a steward." But also the man who holds the pocketbook , Rod added mentally. The brains of the outfit, too. Tuan might know how to make people do what he wanted; but did he know what he wanted ?

Yes, of course he did. Hadn't the Mocker told him? Which made the Mocker the local political economist, and probably Tuan's speech-writer.

Rod leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And you manage to keep them in this decadent luxury with only the alms the beggars bring in?Plus the Queen's shilling, of course."

Tuan grinned sheepishly and leaned forward, nodding. " Tis not easy done, friend Gallowglass. These beggars are loath to let any man rule them. It is tedious labor, cajoling, threatening, flattering—a man grows a-weary of it. Yet it is well worth the doing."

Rod nodded. "It would take a man with no false pride, and less false humility, and one who could see into his fellow's heart."

Tuan blushed.

"Such a man," saidRod, "could make himself king of the beggars."

But Tuan shook his head, eyes closed. "No, there is no king here, friend Gallowglass. A lord of the manor, perhaps, but naught more."

"You don't want to be king?"

Tuan's shoulders shrugged with a snort of laughter. "The beggars would not hear of it!"

"That wasn't what I asked."

Tuan's eyes locked with Rod's, the smile fading from the boyish face. Then Tuan caught Rod's meaning, and his eyes hardened. "Nay!" he spat. "I do not seek the throne."

"Then why are you trying to lead the beggars against the Queen?" Rod rapped out.

The smile eased across Tuan's face again; he sat back, looking very satisfied with himself. "Ah, you know of my plotting! Then may I ask of you outright, friend Rod, will you join with us when we march on the castle?"

Rod felt his face setting like plaster. His eyes locked with Tuan's again; his voice was very calm. "Why me?"

"We shall have need of as many friends in the Queen's Guard as we may have…"

"You must already have quite a few," Rod murmured, "if you know already that I joined the Queen's Guard today."

Tuan's grin widened; his eyelids drooped.

A stray fact clicked into place in Rod's mind.

"If I were to search through this hall," he said carefully, "would I find the three men who attacked you tonight?"

Tuan nodded, eyes dancing.

"A put-up job," Rod said, nodding with him. "A small performance, arranged solely for my benefit, with the single purpose of maneuvering me in here for a recruiting lecture. You do know how to manage people, Tuan McReady."

Tuan blushed, and looked down.

"But what if I don't want to join you, Tuan McReady? Will I leave the House of Clovis alive this night?"

Tuan's head came up, eyes boring into Rod's.

"Only," he said, "if you are an excellent swordsman, and a warlock to boot."

Rod nodded slowly, the events of the past two days whirling through his mind. For a moment, he was tempted to join; he had no doubt that he could maneuver himself into the throne after the revolution.

But no; what Tuan said was true. It took a man with an inborn gift of mass hypnotism to control the beggars. Rod might take the throne, but the beggars—and the Mocker, and whoever was behind him—would not let him keep it.

No, the power structure had to stay the way it was; a constitutional monarchy was the only hope for democracy on this planet.

Then, too, there was Catharine…

Then the jarring note in the score of events caught Rod's ear. He was hung up on Catharine, probably; she was the Dream.

But he had liked Tuan at first sight. How could he like them both if they were really working against one another?

Of course, all Tuan's forthright charm might be an act, but somehow Rod doubted it.

No. If Tuan had really wanted the throne, he could have wooed Catharine, and could have won her—Rod had no doubt about that.

So Tuan was supporting the Queen. How he figured his demagoguery could help her, Rod couldn't figure, but somehow it made sense that Tuan believed he was.

Then why the elaborate plot to get Rod into the House of Clovis?

To test Rod, of course; to find out if he was to be trusted next to the Queen.

Which made sense, if this kid had dealings with Brom O'Berin. It would be just like Brom to try to drum up popular support for the Queen in just this way—but why the propaganda for a march on the castle?

Tuan probably had an answer to that one, and speak-ing of answers, it was about time Rod came up with one.

He gave Tuan a savage grin and rose, with his hand on his sword. "No thanks. I'll take my chances with swordcraft and sorcery."

Tuan's eyes lit with joy; he caught Rod's arm. "Well spoken, friend Gallowglass! I had hoped you would answer thus. Now sit, and hear the truth of my plot."

Rod shook his hand off. "Draw," he said between his teeth.

"Nay, nay! I would not draw 'gainst a friend. I have played a low trick on you, but you must not hold anger; 'twas for a good purpose. But sit, and I shall tell you."

"I've heard all I want." Rod started to draw his sword.

Tuan caught Rod's forearm again, and this time his hand wouldn't shake off. Rod looked into Tuan's eyes, jaw tightened and arm muscles straining; but slowly and steadily, his sword was forced back into its scabbard.

"Sit," said Tuan, and he forced Rod back into his chair as easily as though Rod had been a child.

"Now hear my plot." Tuan let go of Rod's arm and smiled, as warmly as though nothing had happened. "The Queen gives us money, and the beggars know that she gives it; but the taking of a gift raises only burning anger in the taker. If we would win friends for the Queen, we must find a way to transmute this anger to gratitude."

Rod nodded, frowning.