"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."
"An' you think it possible," said Tuan, "tha'rt a greater fool than I; and I am known far and wide as a most exceptional fool."
Rod lowered the mug untasted. "Are you speaking from a general conviction, or do you have some particulars in mind?"
Tuan set one forefinger against the other. "A throne rests on two legs: primus, the noblemen, who are affronted by anything new, and therefore oppose the Queen."
"Thanks," said Rod with a bittersweet smile, "for letting me in on the secret."
"Left to themselves," said Tuan, "the nobles might abide her for love of her father; but there are the councillors."
"Yes." Rod caught his lower lip between'his teeth. "I take it the lords do whatever their councillors tell them?"