`He's here,' he said simply. For a moment, the significance didn't register with Horace, but Halt saw it immediately.`Tennyson?' he said and Will nodded.

`They're setting up their camp. He's announced that he'll be addressing the people at three o'clock.'

There was a twelve-hour water clock in the throne room and Halt looked quickly at it. It was just before one o'clock. Inwardly, he was seething but, as before, he controlled his emotions so there was no trace of them on his face or in his manner.

`Very well,' he said. 'Thanks, Will. Go and keep an eye on them. Let me know if anything else develops.'

Will nodded. He glanced inquisitively at Ferris, then back at Halt, his eyes asking a question: How is it going here? But Halt's quick headshake told him not to ask it aloud. Will gathered all was not well.

`Right, Halt. I'll be at the market ground. That's where they're setting up the pavilion.'

He turned and left the room quickly. Halt studied his brother's set features and he felt a very unfamiliar sensation – that of failure. But he had to try once more.

`Ferris…' he began.

Ferris raised an eyebrow. 'That's your majesty, I think.' He sensed that Halt was going to try appealing to his better nature. Perhaps even to plead with him. And now, as he knew he had the upper hand, his confidence flowed back. Halt glared but before he could say anything, the young warrior who had accompanied him cut him off.

`Your majesty,' Horace said and his tone was conciliatory, even respectful, 'I think I might see a way to resolve this problem – and it's one that we might all profit from, if you take my meaning?'

He rubbed finger and thumb together in the universal gesture of greed – a gesture that Ferris understood only too well. The King turned to him, interested to hear what he might say.

But Halt interrupted before Horace could go further.

`Leave it Horace. It's useless,' he said, his voice tired.

Horace pushed his bottom lip out, assumed a thoughtful expression and replied, in a slightly disparaging tone, `Oh, Halt, let's skip your claptrap about honour and duty to the people. You've tried. You've failed. Face up to it and move on. Now I can see a definite opportunity with this Sunrise Warrior nonsense. Why shouldn't we make a little cash for ourselves here?' He looked back to the King. 'And a lot for you, your majesty.'

Ferris nodded. Horace was talking the language he understood best. Self-interest. Halt's angry reply convinced him.

`Horace, shut up! You've forgotten your place! You've got no right to-'

`Oh, come off it, Halt! Admit for once that your way isn't going to work,' Horace told him, cutting him off. Halt stopped, but the fury was still evident on his face as he glared at his young companion.

He's speechless, Ferris thought delightedly. Then Horace turned to the King again.

`Well, your majesty? Interested?'

Ferris smiled and nodded. It wasn't just the promise of money that attracted him. It was seeing his brother bested, and seeing his impotent rage when one of his followers turned against him.

`Go on,' he said. He barely heard Halt's bitter exclamation as his brother turned away. He could see thedisappointment in Sean's face at Horace's unexpected interruption. Serve him right. Sean was an idealist, and it was time he learned a little about the realities of life. Horace looked around the big, echoing throne room, saw a small curtained doorway to one side.

`Perhaps if I could have a few words in private, your majesty. Could we…?'He indicated the side room. `My robing room,' Ferris said and led the way towards it. 'We can talk in there, undisturbed.' He looked meaningfully at Sean and Halt as he said the last word. Horace followed him, shouldering his way past Sean as he did so, a smirk on his face. Sean shook his head and turned despairingly to Halt. The Ranger had his eyes lowered but as the King and Horace went through the curtain, he looked up to meet Sean's gaze. The young Hibernian was startled to see that Halt was grinning. He went to speak but Halt held up a hand. A second or so later, they heard the sound of a fist striking against flesh and a sudden cry of pain, cut off by the clatter of furniture being knocked over. Then Horace's voice came from behind the curtain.

`Can you come in here, Halt?'

Sean followed as the Ranger crossed the room and stepped behind the curtain. The chamber was a small annexe where the King's official robes for state occasions were kept. It contained a large wardrobe for the purpose, along with several chairs, a dressing table and a mirror. There was a small fireplace in the corner. The King was stretched unconscious on the floor, an overturned chair beside him. Horace was shaking his right hand, nursing his obviously bruised knuckles.

`Horace Altman,' Halt said, 'what on earth have you done?'

Horace gestured to the wardrobe full of official garments. 'I've just elected you King,' he said. 'Start getting dressed.'

Chapter 36

'Are you mad?' Halt asked. But Horace said nothing so he went on. 'Take a look at the two of us. T a certain similarity, even a strong one. But we do not look the same.'

Sean had moved quickly to kneel beside the unconscious figure on the floor of the robing room. He felt for a pulse, was relieved to find there was one, then looked up at the two Araluans, now facing each other – Halt angry and perplexed, Horace calm and unflustered.

`He's out cold,' he said.

Horace glanced at him. 'Do you have a problem with that?'

Sean considered the question for a few seconds. 'Not really. But you might have when he wakes up. He'll bring the guards down on you like a ton of bricks. And I doubt I'll be able to protect you.'

Horace shrugged. 'It won't be a problem. I'll be walking out of here with the alternative King.' He indicated

Halt and again the Ranger showed his frustration. Horace seemed incapable of facing facts.

`Horace, take a good look at Ferris. Then take a good look at me.'

`I have,' Horace said calmly. 'All we need to do is pull your hair back off your face and fasten it with that leather headband he wears…'

`That's the royal crown of Clonmel,' Sean felt he had to interject.

Horace glanced at him. 'All the better. Adds to the illusion.'

`You've noticed that our beards are completely different?' Halt said sarcastically and Horace nodded.

`Luckily, yours is fuller than his. I noticed you've been letting it grow since we've been on the road.'

Halt shrugged. 'That was intentional. I didn't want people to notice my similarity to Ferris.'

`Well, now we do want them to. So we have to remove some of it. Be a bit difficult if the situation were reversed. Hard to put more beard on.'

`You're planning to shave me?' Halt said. For the first time in many years, he was taken aback by the turn of events.

`Halt, don't you see? This is an ideal opportunity! We need the King to appear in public and denounce Tennyson and the Outsiders… and to invoke the myth of the Sunrise Warrior. You know that it has to be the King. You know that he's refused to do it. Well, with a bit of work, we can make you look like him. Put on one of those robes and that leather thingy…' He looked at Sean, who had opened his mouth to protest. 'All right, the royal crownthingy… and I'll bet nobody will see the difference. They'll see what they expect to see. Isn't that what you always say?'

It was true. Halt knew that an impersonation was already halfway to success if people were expecting to see the real subject. And of course, few in Clonmel would have seen the King at close quarters. But Halt was stuck at one thought.

`You're planning to shave me?' he repeated.

Horace nodded, turning to Sean. `I'll need my dagger. Can you get it for me without making too much fuss about it?'