Part 24 (2/2)
”Oh, I don't think he would, anyway.” Rod looked up into Fess's imitation eyes. ”All the Duke's horses and all the Duke's men aren't quite enough to take on the King's army.”
”True,” the robot conceded. ”Therefore, he will attack Earl Tudor.”
”You really think he'd dare strike that close to Tuan?”
”Perhaps not. Perhaps he will seek to conquer Hapsburg first.”
”It's just great, having outgoing neighbors ... and if he manages to swallow Hapsburg, he'll have to digest him before he can take on Tudor.”
”I doubt that he would try. He might be able to defeat the Earl quickly, but he must surely need a week or two to complete the indoctrination of the captured soldiers.”
”And while he's digesting, he's right next to Tuan. No, you're right. He'd try to march through Tudor, and attack Tuan right away. Which means our job is to keep him from being able to attack another baron, before Tuan attacks him.”
”What methods do you propose. Rod?”
Rod shrugged. ”The usual-hit and run, practical jokes, whispering campaigns-nothing sensible. Keep him off- balance. Which shouldn't be too hard; he's going to be feeling pretty insecure, right about now.”
”He will indeed. And, being paranoid, he will seek to eliminate whatever enemies he does see, before he turns his attention to attack.”
”Maybe. But a paranoid also might decide to attack be- fore the next baron can attack him, and start his own secret police to take care of internal enemies.” Rod clenched a fist in frustration. ”d.a.m.n! If only you could predict what a single human being would do!”
”Be glad you cannot,” Fess reminded, ”or VETO and its totalitarians could easily triumph.”
”True,” Rod growled. ”Truer than I like. And speaking of our proletarian pals, do you see any evidence of their meddling in this?”
”Alfar's techniques do resemble theirs,” Fess admitted.
166 ”Resemble? Wish fulfillment, more likely! He's got the kind of power they dream of-long-distance, ma.s.s- production brainwas.h.i.+ng! What wouldn't any good little dictator give for that?”
”His soul, perhaps?”
”Are you kidding? Totalitarianism works the other way.
around-everybody else gives their souls to the dictator!”
”Unpleasant, but probably accurate. Nonetheless, there is no evidence of futurian activity.”
”Neither totalitarians nor anarchists, huh?”
”Certainly not. Rod.”
”Not even the sudden, huge jump in Alfar's powers?”
”That ability does bother me,” Pess admitted. ”A pro- jective telepath, who seems to be able to take on a whole parish at one time... Still, there's no reason to believe the totalitarians would be behind it.”
”Oh, yes there is,” Rod countered. ”From everything Simon's told me, and it just backed up what Gwen said- the trance these people seem to walk around in, is thoroughly impersonal.”
”Almost depersonalized, you might say? I had, had something of the same thought too. Rod. I recognize the state.”
”Yes-mechanical, isn't it?”
”True. But that is not conclusive evidence of futurian meddling.”
”No-but it does make you wonder.” Rod gave the syn- thetic horsehair a last swipe with the brush. ”There! As new and s.h.i.+ny as though you'd just come from the factory. Do you mind a long tether, just for appearances?”
”I would mind not having it. It is certainly necessary, Rod.”
”Must keep them up, mustn't we?” Rod reached into the cart, pulled out a length of rope, tied one end to Fess's halter and the other to a convenient tree branch. ”Besides, you can break it easily, if you want.”
”I will not hesitate to do so,” Fess a.s.sured him. ”Sleep while you can. Rod. You will need the rest.”
”You're such an optomist.” Rod pulled his cloak out of the cart and went back to the campfire. ”I'm not exactly in 167.
a great mood for emptying my mind of the cares of the day.”
Try,” the robot urged.
”If I try to sleep, I'll stay awake.” Rod lay down and rolled up in his cloak. ”How about trying to stay awake?”
”Not if you truly want to sleep. I could play soft music, Rod.”
”Thanks, but I think the nightbirds are doing a pretty good job of that.”
”As you wish. Good night. Rod.”
”I hope so,” Rod returned. ”Same to you, Fess.” He rolled over toward the fire...
... and found himself staring into Simon's wide-open, calm, and thoughtful eyes.
”Uh.. .hi, there.” Rod forced a sickly grin. ”Say, I'll bet you're wondering what I was doing, rambling on like that-aren't you?”
”Not greatly,” Simon answered, ”though I do find thy conversation to be of great interest.”
”Oh, I'm sure.” Rod's stomach sank. ”Does it, uh, bother you, to, uh, hear me talk to my horse.”
”Not at all.” Simon looked faintly surprised. ”And 'tis certainly not so desperate as talking to thyself.”
”That's a point...”
'”Tis also scarcely amazing.” Simon favored him with a rather bleak smile. ”Be mindful, I'm an innkeeper, and many carters have stopped at my inn. Every one I've known, has spoken to his horse.”
”Oh.” Rod hoped his surprise didn't shown in his face.
”You mean I'm not exactly unusual?”
”Only in this: thou'rt the first I've heard who, when he spoke to his horse, made sense.”
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