“Yes, I—What did you say?”
Prince Travann repeated it slowly, distinctly and tonelessly.
“That was what I thought you said. Well, I’m going to insist on a complete investigation, including a repetition of the experiment. Under direction of Professor Faress.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. And when that happens, I mean to be on hand personally. If somebody is just before discovering time-travel, I think Security has a very substantial interest in it.”
The Prime Minister called back to confirm that First Citizen Yaggo and King Ranulf would be at the luncheon. The Chamberlain, Count Gadvan, called with a long and dreary problem about the protocol for the banquet. Finally, at noon, he flashed a signal for General Dorflay, waited five minutes, and then left his desk and went out, to find the mad general and his wirehaired soldiers drawn up in the hall.
There were more Thorans on the South Upper Terrace, and after a flurry of porting and presenting and ordering arms and hand-saluting, the Prime Minister advanced and escorted him to where the Bench of Counselors, all thirty of them, total age close to twenty-eight hundred years, were drawn up in a rough crescent behind the three distinguished guests. The King of Durendal wore a cloth-of-silver leotard and pink tights, and a belt of gold links on which he carried a jeweled dagger only slightly thicker than a knitting needle. He was slender and willowy, and he had large and soulful eyes, and the royal beautician must have worked on him for a couple of hours. Wait till Marris sees this; oh, brother!
Koreff, the Lord Marshal, wore what was probably the standard costume of Durendal, a fairly long jerkin with short sleeves, and knee-boots, and his dress dagger looked as though it had been designed for use. Lord Koreff looked as though he would be quite willing and able to use it; he was fleshy and full-faced, with hard muscles under the flesh.
First Citizen Yaggo, People’s Manager-in-Chief of and for the Planetary Commonwealth of Aditya, wore a one-piece white garment like a mechanic’s coveralls, with the emblem of his government and the numeral 1 on his breast. He carried no dagger; if he had worn a dress weapon, it would probably have been a slide rule. His head was completely shaven, and he had small, pale eyes and a rattrap mouth. He was regarding the Durendalians with a distaste that was all too evidently reciprocated.
King Ranulf appeared to have won the toss for first presentation. He squeezed the Imperial hand in both of his and looked up adoringly as he professed his deep honor and pleasure. Yaggo merely clasped both his hands in front of the emblem on his chest and raised them quickly to the level of his chin, saying: “At the service of the Imperial State,” and adding, as though it hurt him, “Your Imperial Majesty.” Not being a chief of state, Lord Koreff came third; he merely shook hands and said, “A great honor, Your Imperial Majesty, and the thanks, both of myself and my royal master, for a most gracious reception.” The attempt to grab first place having failed, he was more than willing to forget the whole subject. There was a chance that finding a way to dispose of the grain surplus might make the difference between his staying in power at home or not.
Fortunately, the three guests had already met the Bench of Counselors. Immediately after the presentation of Lord Koreff, they all started the two hundred yards march to the luncheon pavilion, the King of Durendal clinging to his left arm and First Citizen Yaggo stumping dourly on his right, with Prince Ganzay beyond him and Lord Koreff on Ranulf’s left.
“Do you plan to stay long on Odin?” he asked the king.
“Oh. I’d love to stay for simply months! Everything is so wonderful, here in Asgard; it makes our little capital of Roncevaux seem so utterly provincial. I’m going to tell Your Imperial Majesty a secret. I’m going to see if I can lure some of your wonderful ballet dancers back to Durendal with me. Aren’t I naughty, raiding Your Imperial Majesty’s theaters?”
“In keeping with the traditions of your people,” he replied gravely. “You Sword-Worlders used to raid everywhere you went.”
“I’m afraid those bad old days are long past, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lord Koreff said. “But we Sword-Worlders got around the galaxy, for a while. In fact, I seem to remember reading that some of our brethren from Morglay or Flamberge even occupied Aditya for a couple of centuries. Not that you’d guess it to look at Aditya now.”
It was First Citizen Yaggo’s turn to take precedence—the seat on the right of the throne chair. Lord Koreff sat on Ranulf’s left, and, to balance him, Prince Ganzay sat beyond Yaggo and dutifully began inquiring of the People’s Manager-in-Chief about the structure of his government, launching him on a monologue that promised to last at least half the luncheon. That left the King of Durendal to Paul; for a start, he dropped a compliment on the cloth-of-silver leotard.
King Ranulf laughed dulcetly, brushed the garment with his fingertips, and said that it was just a simple thing patterned after the Durendalian peasant costume.
“You have peasants on Durendal?”
“Oh, dear, yes! Such quaint, charming people. Of course, they’re all poor, and they wear such funny ragged clothes, and travel about in rackety old aircars, it’s a wonder they don’t fall apart in the air. But they’re so wonderfully happy and carefree. I often wish
