Toby nodded. His face sobered a trifle. "There are one or two among them who had daring enough to come here. There was the wisest witch of all, from the South. She grows old now. Why, she must be fair near to thirty!"
That line caught Rod right in the middle of a drink. He choked, swallowed, gagged, coughed, wheezed, and wiped at his eyes.
"Is aught wrong, friend Gallowglass?" Toby inquired with the kind of solicitousness usually reserved for the octogenarian.
"Oh, nothing," Rod gasped. "Just a little confusion between the esophagus and the trachea. Have to expect a few quirks in us old folk, you know. Why didn't this wise witch stay?"
Toby smiled, fairly oozing understanding and kindness. "Ah, she said that we made her feel too much her age, and went back to the South. If thou shouldst come to trouble there, but call out her name,Gwendylon, and thou'It right quick have more help than thou needst."
"I'll remember that," Rod promised, and immediately forgot as he had a sudden vision of himself calling a woman for help. He almost went into another coughing fit, but he didn't dare laugh; he remembered how sensitive he'd been in his teens.
He took another swig of the wine to wash down his laughter and pointed the mug at Toby. "Just one more question, now: why is the Queen protecting you?"
Toby stared. "Didst thou not know?"
"Know I didst not." Rod smiled sweetly.
"Why, she is herself a witch, good friend Gal-lowglass!"
Rod's smile faded. "Hum." He scratched the tip of his nose. "I'd heard rumors to that effect. They're true, eh?"
"Most true. A witch unschooled, but a witch nonetheless."
Rod raised an eyebrow. "Unschooled?"
"Aye. Our gifts need a stretching and exercising, a training and schooling, to come to their full. Catharine is a witch born, but unschooled. She can hear thoughts, but not at any time that she wishes, and not clearly."
"Hm. What else can she do?"
"Naught that we know of. She can but hear thoughts."
"So she's sort of got a minimum union requirement." Rod scratched in back of his ear. "Kind of handy talent for a Queen. She'd know everything that goes on in her castle."
Toby shook his head. "Canst hear five speak all at once, friend Gallowglass? And listen to them all the hours of the day? And still be able to speak what they spoke?"
Rod frowned and rubbed his chin.
"Canst repeat even one conversation?" Toby smiled indulgently and shook his head. "Of course thou can'st not—and neither can our Queen."
"She could write them down…"
"Aye; but remember, she is unschooled; and it needs high training of an excellent good gift to make words of thoughts."
"Hold on." Rod's hand went up, palm out. "You mean you don't hear thoughts as words?"
"Nay, nay. An instant's thought suffices for a book of words, friend Gallowglass. Must you needs put words to your thoughts in order to have them?"
Rod nodded. "I see. Quantum thought mechanics."
"Strange…" murmured a voice. Looking up, Rod found himself the center of a fair-sized group of young witches and warlocks who had apparently drifted over to get in on an ineresting conversation.
He looked at the one who had spoken, a burly young warlock, and smiled with a touch of sarcasm. "What's strange?" He wondered what the kid's name was.
The boy grinned. "Martin is my name." He paused to chuckle at Rod's startled look; he still hadn't gotten used to the mind-reading. "And what is strange is that you, a warlock, should not know the ins and outs of hearing thoughts.
"Aye." Toby nodded. "You are the only warlock we have known, friend Gallowglass, that cannot hear thoughts."
"Uh, yes." Rod ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. "Well, as I mentioned a little earlier, I'm not really a warlock. You see…"
He was cut off by a unanimous burst of laughter. He sighed, and resigned himself to his reputation.
He reverted to his former line of questioning. "I take it some of you can hear thoughts as words."
"Oh, aye," said Toby, wiping his eyes. "We have one." He turned to the ring of listeners. "Is Aldis here?"
A buxom, pretty sweet-sixteen elbowed her way through to the front rank. "Who shall I listen to for you, sir?"
A spark arced across a gap in Rod's mind. A malici-ous gleam came into his eyes. "Durer. The councillor to Milord Loguire."
Aldis folded her hands in her lap, settled herelf, sitting very straight. She stared at Rod; her eyes lost focus. Then she began to speak in a high-pitched nasal monotone.
"As you will, milord. Yet I cannot help but wonder, are you truly loyal?"
Her voice dropped two octaves in pitch but kept the monotonous quality. "Knave! Have you the gall to insult me to me face?"
"Nay, milord!" the high voice answered hurriedly. "I do not insult you; I do but question the wisdom of your actions."
Durer, Rod thought. The high voice was Durer, practicing his vocation—the care and manipulation of the Duke Loguire.
"Remember, milord, she is but a child. Is it kindness to a child to let her have her willful way? Or is it kindness to spank her when she needs it?"
There was a silence for a moment; then the deeper voice of the Lord Loguire answered, "There is some measure of truth in what you say. Certain, there is something of the wanton child in her taking up the power to appoint the priests."
"Why," murmured the high voice, " 'tis an act against tradition, milord, and against the wisdom of men far older than herself. Tis in bitter truth the act of a rebellious child."
"Mayhap," Loguire rumbled. "Yet she is the Queen, and the Queen's Law shall be obeyed."
"Even should the Queen make evil laws, milord?"
"Her actions are not evil, Durer." The deep voice took on an ominous quality. "Reckless, perhaps, and thoughtless, and ill-considered; for the good they bring today may bring havoc down upon our heads tomorrow. Foolish laws, perhaps; but evil, no."
The high voice sighed. "Mayhap, milord. Yet she threatens the honor of her noblemen. Is that not evil?"
"Why," rumbled Loguire, "how is this? She has been haughty, aye, taking to herself greater airs than ever a Queen may own to, mayhap; but she has never yet done aught that could be construed as insult."
"Aye, milord, not yet."
"Why, what do you mean?"
"The day shall come, milord."
"What day is that, Durer?"
"When she shall put the peasants before the noblemen, milord."
"Have done with your treasonous words!" Loguire roared. "On your knees, slight man, and thank your God that I leave you with your head!"
Rod stared at Aldis' face, still not recovered from the shock of hearing two disembodied male voices coming from the mouth of a pretty girl.
Slowly, her eyes focused again. She let out a long breath and smiled up at him. "Did you hear, friend Gallowglass?"
Rod nodded.
She spread her hands, shrugging. "I cannot recall a word of what I said."
"Don't let it worry you, I remember it all." Rod rubbed the stubble on his chin. "You were acting as a channel, a medium in the purest sense of the word."
He threw his head back, drained his mug, and tossed it to one of the young warlocks. The youth caught the tankard, disappeared, and reappeared. He handed the tankard, brimming full, to Rod, who shook his head in mock despair.
He leaned back and sipped at the wine, looking up at the young faces around him, smiling and fairly glowing with the knowledge of their power.
"Have you ever done this before?" he asked, with a wave of the mug that took them all in. "Listened to skull sessions like that one, I mean."
"Only of the Queen's enemies," Aldis answered with a toss of her head. "We often listen to Durer."
"Oh?" Rod raised an eyebrow. "Learn anything?"
Aldis nodded. "He is much concerned with the peasants of late."
Rod was very still for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What's his interest in the peasants?"
Toby grinned knowingly. "Hark now to his latest exploit! He hath brooded trouble 'twixt two serfs on the Queen's own estate. A young peasant wished to marry an old farmer's daughter, and the old man said nay. And the youth would've thrown up his hands in despair and let himself waste away with a broken heart."