"Nay." Brom frowned, puzzled. "Our spies are few enough, for loyalty is rare in this dark age; and we keep no spies at all at the House of Clovis."
"No spies," Catharine agreed, "and yet I know that thou hast had words with Tuan of the beggars this day."
Her voice softened; her eyes were almost gentle as she looked at the dwarf. "Brom… ?"
The dwarf smiled, bowed his head, and turned to the door. He struck the wood with the heel of his hand. The door swung open; Brom turned with one foot on the threshold, and a malevolent glare stabbed at Rod from under the bushy eyebrows; then the door slammed behind him.
Catharine rose, glided to the fireplace. She stood staring at the flames, hands clasped at her waist. Her shoulders sagged; and for a moment, she looked so small and forlorn—and so beautiful, with the firelight streaming up like a mist about her face and shoulders—that Rod's throat tightened inan old, familiar way.
Then her shoulders straightened, and her head snapped around toward him. "You are not what you seem, Rod Gallowglass."
Rod stared.
Catharine's hand strayed to her neck, playing with a locket at her throat.
Rod cleared his throat, a trifle nervously..-*'Here I am, just a simple blank-shield soldier, just carrying out my orders and taking my pay, and three times in thirty hours I get accused of being something mysterious."
"Then I must needs think that it is true." Catharine's mouth twisted in a mocking smile.
She sat in one of the great oaken chairs, grasping the arms tightly, and studied Rod for a few moments.
"What are you, Rod Gallowglass?"
Rod spread his arms in a shrug, trying to look the picture of offended innocence. "A blank shield, my Queen! A soldier of fortune, no more!"
" 'No more,' " Catharine mimicked, malice in her eyes. "What is your profession, Rod Gallowglass?"
Rod scowled, beginning to feel like the rodent half of a game of cat-and-mouse. "A soldier, my Queen."
"This is your avocation," she said, "your pleasure and your game. Tell me now your profession."
The woman was a) uncanny; and b) a bitch, Rod decided. Trouble was, she was a beautiful bitch, and Rod had a weakness.
His brain raced; he discarded several lies and chose the most obvious and least plausible.
"My profession is the preserving of your Majesty's life."
"Indeed!" Catharine mocked him with her eyes. "And who hath trained you to that profession? Who is so loyal to me that he would send you?"
Suddenly, Rod saw through the mocking and the belligerence. It was all a mask, a shield; behind it lay a very frightened, very lonely little girl, one who wanted someone to trust, craved someone to trust. But there had been too many betrayals; she couldn't let herself trust any more.
He looked into her eyes, giving her his gentlest, most sincere gaze, and said in his best couch-side manner," I call no man master, my Queen. It is myself who has sent me, out of love for Catharine the Queen and loyalty to the nation of Gramarye."
Something desperate flickered in her eyes; her hands clutched at the chair arms. "Love," she murmured.
Then the mockery was back in her eyes. "Yes, love—for Catharine the Queen."
She looked away, into the fire. "Be that as it may. But I think you are in most comely truth a friend— though why I believe that, I cannot say."
"Oh, you may be sure that I am!" Rod smiled. "You knew that I was at the House of Clovis, though you couldn't say how, and you were right about that."
"Be still!" she snapped. Then slowly her eyes lifted to his. "And what affairs took you to the House of Clovis this night?"
Was she a mind reader, maybe?
Rod scratched along his jaw; the bone-conduction microphone would pick up the sound…
"There's some confusion Festering in my mind," he said. "How did you know I was at the House of Clovis?"
"Here, Rod," a voice murmured behind his ear.
Catharine gave him a look that fairly dripped with contempt. "Why, I knew you spoke with Tuan Loguire. Then where could you be but the House of Clovis?"
Very neat—only how had she known he was with Tuan… Loguire?
Loguire!
Rod stared. "Excuse me, but—uh—did you say Tuan Loguire?"
Catharine frowned.
"I thought his name was, uh—McReady."
Catharine almost laughed. "Oh, nay! He is the second son of Milord Loguire! Did you not know?"
Second son! Then Tuan was himself the man he had been condemning for a fool!
And his big brother was the man who had "an ancient grievance 'gainst the Queen," and was a major threat to the throne.
"No," said Rod, "I did not know."
Fess' voice murmured, "Data indicate existence of excellent intelligence system."
Rod groaned mentally. Robots were a great help!
He pursed his lips, staring at Catharine. "You say you have no spies in the House of Clovis," he said, "and if I assume that you speak the truth, then that means…"
He left the sentence hanging; Fess would fill in the blank.
There was a moment of silence; then a loud hum behind Rod's ear, ended in a sharp click.
Rod cursed mentally. If Catharine had no spies, she logically couldn't have known what she did know. He'd given Fess another paradox, and the robot's circuits had overloaded. Epileptic robots could be very inconvenient.
Catharine glared at him. "Of a certainty, I speak truth!"
"Oh, I never doubted!" Rod held up a hand. "But you are a ruler, and you were reared to it; one of the first lessons you must have learned was lying with a straight face."
Catharine's face froze; then, slowly, she bent her head, looking down at her hands. When she looked up, her face was drawn; the mask had been stripped away, and her eyes were haunted. "Once again, my knowledge was true," she murmured. "You know more than soldiering, Rod Gallowglass."
Rod nodded heavily. He'd made another slip; blank-shield soldiers don't know politics.
"Then tell me," she murmured, "how you came to the House of Clovis, this night."
"My Queen," Rod said gravely, "one man was set upon by three, in an alley. I helped him out; he took me to the House of Clovis to tell me his thanks with a glass of wine. That is how I came to meet Tuan Loguire."
Her brows drew together in an anxious little frown. "If I might but credit your words with truth," she murmured.
She rose and went to the fireplace. All at once, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed forward. "I shall need all my friends in this hour that comes upon us," she murmured, voice husky, "and I think thou art the truest of my friends, though I cannot say why."
She raised her head to look at him, and he saw with a shock that her eyes swam with tears. "There are still some to guard me," she said, her voice so low he could scarcely hear; but her eyes shone through the tears, and an invisible band tightened around Rod's chest. His throat tightened, too; his eyes were burning.
She turned away, biting her clenched fist. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice trembling. "The time shall come soon when each of the Great Lords shall declare himself for or against me; and I think they will be few who ride to my standard."
She turned, came toward him again, eyes alight and a shy, trembling smile on her lips. Rod rose to meet her, staring, fascinated, heart pounding in his ears.
She stopped just before him, one hand touching the locket at her throat again, and whispered, "Will you stand by my side in that day, Rod Gallowglass?"
Rod nodded awkwardly and garbled out something affirmative. At that particular moment, his answer would probably have been the same if she'd requested his soul.
Then, suddenly, she was in his arms, lithe and squirming, and her lips were moist and full on his own.
Some timeless while later, she lowered her head and moved reluctantly away, holding to his arms as if to steady herself. "Nay, but I am a weak woman," she murmured, exultant. "Gonow,RodGallowglass, with the thanks of a queen."
She said something else, but Rod didn't quite follow it; and, somehow, he was on the other side of the door, walking down a wide, cold, torchlit corridor.