61

Morley was gone. After five thoughtful minutes I asked, “You really think the troubles might get that bad?”

They are barely into their infancy now and people are dying every day. Glory Mooncalled appears to be contributing by neglect, if not by plan.

“You’re determined to have him here in town, aren’t you?”

There is no doubt whatsoever that he is either in the city or somewhere close by. You came close to him last week.

“Why?”

He could see my thoughts. He understood the question.

Glory Mooncalled has betrayed no lack of confidence in his own abilities. About that all respondents always agree. Nor do they disagree that he has only disdain and contempt for the various persons who manage the Karentine state. He knows only those he encountered in the Cantard. And in the Cantard he did learn to respect the overwhelming force that lords and wizards could bring to bear—by direct experience. He believes it will be an entirely different game in TunFaire.

“I got a feeling maybe friend Mooncalled is gonna run into a couple of surprises here.” Here at home not all our functionaries are people who inherited their jobs, nor are all of them so enchanted with their own importance that they do nothing but polish their images.

Exactly. The Dead Man was still tapped into my mind. And there is every possibility that someone like Relway may be the real best hope for averting complete chaos.

“You think Glory Mooncalled might want to precipitate such a state?”

Perhaps. As I observed, he suffers from no lack of confidence. And he is aware that he has been something of a folk hero here, in the past. He might believe that ordinary Karentines will proclaim him their savior if things turn bad enough.

Which is really what happened in the Cantard during the war. The native tribes, tired of generations of being caught between two vicious, corrupt, inept empires, had fallen in behind Glory Mooncalled.

Hell, Glory had been a hero of mine because he had bucked the ruling classes and had shown no tolerance for corruption or incompetence. Without Mooncalled there would have been no victory in the Cantard. No one, from the King to the least trooper, would deny that—though different interpretations can be placed upon the exact nature of his role in the triumph. He has no friends on high. And guess who pays the salaries of the guys who are going to write the histories of the great war?

“I wouldn’t like to think that he would be that coldbloodedly, blatantly manipulative.”

He has little more love for the Karentine aristocracy than he did for the Venageti.

Coldly and systematically, practically from the moment he had come over to our side, Glory Mooncalled had embarrassed, humiliated, and eliminated a parade of Venageti generals, wizards, and lords who had abused his dignity.

“Could it be that this man who never guesses wrong has, just marginally, misinterpreted the Karentine character?”

He has, without a doubt. Karentines are inordinately fond of their Royals and aristocrats—although you murder them with alarming frequency.

Actually, they murder one another. We have some outrageously bizarre revolutionaries on the streets these days, but I have never heard even the most deranged suggest that we dispense with the monarchy.

I have heard the suggestion, though. Only from non-humans. And guess who is the one big lump really sticking in the craw of the mob already?

Miss Winger and Mr. Tharpe are due here soon, should you be interested in an update on Glory Mooncalled’s latest efforts.

“Tell you the truth, I’m a whole lot more interested in the activities of certain gods and goddesses who may save us the trouble of having to survive your coming troubles.”

Reluctantly, the Dead Man admitted that that might be a more immediate concern.

“Can you read Adeth at all?”

Only her presence and general location.

“If I get her in here, can you do anything with her?”

He didn’t answer for a while. I was about to nudge him when he offered, What good is nerve if you do not employ it?