Herding?
Gwen, did you know we were being herded?
Nay—yet now, I can see it clearly enough.
The General frowned, concerned. "What's the matter, old man? Hadn't you guessed you were being driven?"
"As a matter of fact, I hadn't." Rod found himself smiling back in spite of himself. "Uh, ah—General, please convey my apologies and great thanks to the Scouting-Master."
"Oh, you may convey them yourself, in just a moment! But, ah—" Shacklar looked down at the carpet, rubbing the tip of his nose with a forefinger. "I wouldn't truly recommend it. A simple apology and expression of thanks—no, the Scouting-Master would take it as a sign of weakness."
"Oh." Rod pursed his lips. "I see. Exactly what form should the apology take?"
"Precisely, Master Gallowglass." The General smiled warmly. "It's always a pleasure to deal with a man who understands the true nature of diplomacy!"
"Does he want his diplomacy in gold, or Terran bills?"
"Gold would be pleasant, but I'm sure I.D.E. kwaher bills will suffice." The General smiled sadly. "However, I'm afraid P.E.S.T. bills would not be acceptable; the Wolmen don't have much faith in them."
"I understand." Rod smiled. "Primitive cultures tend to be conservative."
"Indeed." The keen glance again. "Well! In this case, the apology should consist of, ah…" Shacklar slipped a small leather-bound pad out of his pocket and flipped it open. "… five hundred kwahers."
Rod stared. "Five… hundred…"
Is the amount so great, my lord?
Not unless you don't have it. How are you at turning lead into gold, dear?
A sudden, faraway look came into Gwen's eyes.
The General was watching them carefully, but with his gentle smile. "I take it you find yourselves temporarily embarrassed?" The General smiled. "We can certainly arrange a temporary, interest-free loan, Master Gallowglass. There is a Bank of Wolmar, and it's solvent at the moment."
"Oh, no! Money's never a problem with us. Uh—is it, Gwen?" Rod reached into the purse that hung at his belt. It held only a few Gramarye coins. The silver in them would be perfectly negotiable, but it might be a little difficult to explain Tuan's and Catharine's portraits.
"Nay, money was never our care," Gwen agreed, giving him a sidelong glance. "Indeed, it hath been so long since I have seen it, that I quite forget the look of it!"
Rod froze.
He swallowed, hugely. Of course, Gwen couldn't know what I.D.E. bills looked like; she had never seen any money but Gramarye's.
Come to think of it, Rod didn't know what they looked like, either. The I.D.E. government had fallen five hundred years before he was born. "On second thought, General, I think I will take you up on that offer. Could you let me have, say, a twenty-kwaher bill for, oh, about two minutes?"
The General frowned, but reached for his wallet. "At least the interest won't be prohibitive." He passed Rod the bill.
"Thanks very." Rod handed it to Gwen. "Yes, money. That's money, dear."
Gwen stared, thunderstruck. "Paper, my lord? This is money?"
"Uh, yes, dear." Gwen had never seen anything but coins, of course, medieval cultures having a rather elemental view of economics. "That's money. Here, anyway." Rod forced a grin. "Uh, sorry, General. We're not used to, ah, using cash, you know how it is."
"Credit cards." The General nodded with understanding. Rod would've hated to shatter his illusions.
"Now, I just had some, right here." Rod fumbled in the purse again; it was still mostly empty.
"My lord," Gwen murmured, "I cannot…"
"That's okay, dear, just try." Rod patted her hand. "Never know just how much you can do, until you give it a try… I know… I had…" Rod dug in the purse as though it were a ten-mile pit, a bead of cold sweat trickling down his brow.
Something rustled.
His fingers touched paper. Lots of paper.
He drew it out slowly, with a grin of relief. "There we are, General, twenty-five twenty-kwaher bills." He plucked the original from Gwen's numbed fingers. "Oh, and the one you loaned us, of course."
The General's eyes widened slightly, but he accepted the cash without comment.
"I don't like to carry large denominations," Rod explained.
"But I thought you said…" Shacklar clamped his lips shut. "No, really. Not my affair at all…" He gave Rod the keen glance again. "Don't you find it troublesome to carry so many bills about?"
"Well, yes," Rod admitted, "but there wasn't time to have them changed."
The General squared the bills into a neat stack. "I take it you left home in a bit of a hurry."
"You might say that, yes."
The General turned to step over to the lieutenant and the Scouting-Master, who broke out in an ear-to-ear grin and hurried over to seize Rod's hand, pumping it. "Glad you one of the good guys!"
"Oh, my pleasure," Rod murmured. "Thanks for understanding."
"Sure, sure! Come outside Wall again, anytime!" The Scouting-Master crossed his arms and bowed, then turned away to the door the lieutenant was holding, licking his thumb and counting the bills. "Nice chasing you!"
"Anytime." Rod waved, feeling slightly numb.
The lieutenant closed the door behind him with relief.
Rod turned back to the General, shaking his head. "Funny how underdeveloped societies always learn the same aspect of our culture first, isn't it?"
"Quite." The General turned away, going back to his desk. "Well! At least that's done!"
"Yeah. Nice to have it over with, isn't it?" Rod grabbed Gwen's arm and made for the door. "Thanks for straightening things out for us, General. If there's anything we can ever do for you…"
"As a matter of fact," Shacklar murmured, "you could answer a few questions…"
Rod's body jerked as his feet stopped and his shoulders tried to keep going. He glared at Gwen.
"We must observe the rules of courtesy, my lord."
"Next time just stop me with a word, okay?" Rod turned back. "Why, sure, General. What kind of questions did you have in mind?"
The General's mouth was pinched at the corners with hidden amusement.
Rod frowned, noticing something he'd missed before. He stepped up to the General's desk, peering at Shacklar's corps insignia. It was the staff of Aesculapius. "You're a doctor!"
"Psychiatrist, actually." The General smiled. "Surely that is an appropriate profession for the chief administrative officer of a former correctional colony?"
"Uh… yeah, I guess it is." Rod frowned. "I just wasn't expecting anything so logical."
"I'm not certain it was, in its genesis." Shacklar's smile hardened. "But I do think it's worked out for the best. I've quite a sense of purpose here."
"Yeah, I can see that you would have." Rod straightened, clearing his throat. "Well! About those questions, General…"
"Yes, indeed. Would you mind telling me how you came to be shipwrecked on Wolmar?"
"No, not at all." If I can think of it.
Shacklar looked up over steepled fingers. "Touch of amnesia?"
"Oh, no, no," Rod said quickly. "Not amnesia, really; it's just that, uh…" He took a deep breath and began improvising at top speed. "Uh, I know this is going to sound strange, but, uh… we were on our way to a costume ball, aboard a passenger liner from, uh…" He tried to remember a ship that had disappeared without a trace, about the end of the I.D.E. era. He could only think of the most famous one, and cursed mentally, then followed it with a quick thought-apology to Gwen. "We were on the, uh, Alfreda, outbound from Fido—you know, Beta Canis Minor's fourth planet—on our way to Tuonela, the fifth planet of 61 Cygni…"