Emancipor grunted around his pipe. “Thought you and Korbal didn’t care much for wealth and all that.”
“Only as a means to an end, Mister Reese, as I believe I explained last night. That said, since our ends are of much greater value and significance than what might be concocted by a handful of outlawed sentries, well, the course ahead is obvious, wouldn’t you say?”
“Obvious, Master. Aye. Still, can’t help but feel sorry for that squad.”
“In this, Mister Reese, your capacity for empathy shames humankind.”
“Heh! And see where it’s got me!”
“How churlish of you, Mister Reese. You are very well paid, and taken care of with respect to your many needs, no matter how insipid they might be. I must tell you: you, sir, are the first of my manservants to have survived for as long as you have. Accordingly, I look upon you with considerable confidence, and not a little affection.”
“Glad to hear it, Master. Still,” he glanced across at Bauchelain, “what happened to all those other manservants you had?”
“Why, I had to kill them, each and every one. Despite considerable investment on my part, I might note. Highly frustrating, as you might imagine. And indeed, on a number of occasions, I was in fact forced to defend myself. Imagine, one’s own seemingly loyal manservant attempting to kill his master. This is what the world has come to, Mister Reese. Is it any wonder that I envisage a brighter future, one where I sit secure upon a throne, ruling over millions of wretched subjects, and immune to all concerns over my own safety? This is the tyrant’s dream, Mister Reese.”
“I was once told that dreams are worthy things,” said Emancipor, “even if they end up in misery and unending horror.”
“Ah, and who told you that?”
He shrugged. “My wife.”
The open road stretched ahead, a winding track of dislodged cobbles, frozen mud, and on all sides, the day brightened with an air of optimism.
Bauchelain then leaned back and said, “Behold, Mister Reese, this new day!”
“Aye, Master. New day.”