Part 9 (2/2)
”With the power he's using,” Meinora remarked, ”it's a wonder he doesn't upset every mind in his castle.” He snapped the detector off.
”Including his own.” Konar nodded and looked at the dial settings. ”One thing's sure. This boy never had any instruction.” He stepped back.
”Well, we know he has it. What's the procedure?”
Meinora was frowning thoughtfully. He stroked his injured cheek, then shook his head.
”We certainly let that guard officer in for something,” he mused. ”Have to pick him up and give him therapy, I think.” He looked at Konar. ”Oh, procedure?”
”Yes, sir. Do we catch him alone and proceed as we did with the last one? That worked with no trouble.”
”No, I don't think it'd work out so well in this case. If I caught it right, this one's almost never by himself outside his apartment. Likes to impress his personality on people.” Meinora looked at the detector set, then around at the younger man beside him.
”You know, I got some interesting side thoughts just now. Maybe we can do two jobs in one this time. It'll take a little longer, but it might save time in the long run.”
The communications operator came over. ”Not another of those?” he asked with a grin.
Meinora nodded. ”I'm just dreaming up a nice, dirty trick,” he admitted.
”Tried something like it once before, on a smaller scale. It worked.” He stood up, stretching.
”The fair's going to be on at Orieano in a little while, right?”
”Yes. Be a pretty big affair, too, I think. Why?”
”And the Duke'll be there, of course, along with most of his court and a good share of his fighting men?”
”Why, yes, sir. They tell me he's always been there. Don't suppose he'll skip it this time.”
”So, it's perfect. We'll get this set of equipment in public, and with apparent legitimacy. And in the process, we'll set up social strains that'll result in this area reorienting itself.” Meinora looked around with a grin.
”Look, call Barskor. Tell him to pick us up with the flier. We'll go down to the hills south of Orieano. Tell you about it on the way.”
The last of the river guards was carried out, head dangling limply from the arms of one of the bearers. Bel Menstal sat back in his chair, frowning. Abruptly, he turned on his steward.
”None of them knew a thing,” he snarled. ”None of them. There's something funny going on here.”
The steward's face was drawn. Dizzying forces had a.s.sailed him, and he had almost collapsed several times during the questioning. He tried to gather his hazy thoughts. Too many kept coming too fast.
”Yes, Excellency,” he agreed. ”Maybe it _is_ witchcraft.”
Bel Menstal's face darkened. ”Nonsense,” he growled, rising part way out of his chair. ”Witchcraft be d.a.m.ned! There's some explanation to this, and I'm going to find out what it is.”
”Yes, Excellency.”
The Baron looked up, then stared contemptuously at his man.
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