The Warlock in Spite of Himself

But the malice faded, was transmuted into something almost like worship, as they looked at young Tuan.

"It is said," and the boy smiled, "that there is no honor among thieves; but there is at least kinship here, among the beggars of Gramarye. Welcome, Rod Gal-lowglass, to the House of Clovis."

The hair at the base of Rod's skull prickled. He remembered the torchlight mob he had seen on the waterfront the night before.

His eyes widened; he stared at Tuan. He couldn't be. He couldn't be.

Oh, but he could. Yes, he could.

Tuan McReady was the young rabble-rouser who'd been haranguing the mob to march on the castle.

This apple-cheeked, wholesome youth was top rat in the local sewer.

The crowd broke into a raucous, cheering clamor, welcoming their Galahad. Tuan grinned and waved. A slight flush crept up from his collar. He seemed almost embarrassed by the reception.

He led Rod to a dark corner at the back of the hall. He hadn't said a word to the Mocker, but two steaming mugs of mulled wine thumped down on the table almost as they sat. The landlord scuttled away without pay.

Rod watched him go, one eyebrow lifted in cynicism. He turned to Tuan. "You don't use money here?"

"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.

"Thus we must make the Queen's shilling something other than a gift."

"And you found a way to do it."

"Not I," Tuan confessed, "but the Mocker. "When is a gift not a gift?' he riddled me, and answered, 'Why, when 'tis a right.' "

Tuan leaned back, spreading his hands. "And there you have it, so easily done. The beggars shall march to the castle and cry to the Queen that she owes them bread and meat, because it is their right. And she will give it to them, and they will be grateful."

Rod smiled, rubbing his chin. "Very shrewd," he said, nodding, but to himself he added: If it works. But it won't; people who have money enjoy giving for charity, but they won't give a cent if you tell them they must. And how grateful will the beggars be when she refuses them, and calls out the army to drive them away ?

And even if she did yield to their demands, what then? What about the sense of power it would give them? Beggars, forcing a Queen's hand! They wouldn't stop at bread and meat; no, they'd be back with more demands in a week, with or without Tuan.

Oh, yes, it was a very shrewd plan; and Tuan had been sucked into it beautifully. The Mocker couldn't lose; and neither could the off-planet totalitarians who were behind him.

But Tuan meant well. His intentions fairly gleamed. He was a little weak on political theory; but his intentions were fine.

Rod raised his mug for a deep draught, then stared into it, watching the swirl of the heated wine. "Yet some say that the House of Clovis would pull Catharine off her throne."

"Nay, nay!" Tuan stared, appalled. "I love the Queen!"

Rod studied the boy's sincere, open face and made his own interpretation of the statement.

He looked back into his mug. "So do I," he said, with more truth than he liked. "But even so, I'd have to admit she's, shall we say, not acting wisely."

Tuan heaved a great sigh and clasped his hands.

"That is true, most true. She means so well, but she does so badly."

Have you looked in a mirror lately, Mr. Kettle ? Rod wondered. Aloud, he said, "Why, how is that?"

Tuan smiled sadly. "She seeks to undo in a day what ages of her grandsires have wrought. There is much evil in this kingdom, that I will gladly admit. But a pile of manure is not moved with one swing of a shovel."

"True," Rod admitted, "and the saltpeter under it can be explosive."

"The great lords do not see that she is casting out devils," Tuan went on. "They see only that she seeks to fill this land with one voice, and only one—and that hers."

"Well"—Rod lifted his mug, face bleak with resignation—"here's to her; let's hope she makes it."