Rod felt his hackles rising; but Gwen’s foot touched his under the table, and he forced a smile. “And we are fortunate to have so wise and prudent a host—and one who sets so goodly a table, as well!”

The Duke waved carelessly. “My table’s yours, whenever thou dost wish it. Yet dost thou wish to dine at my most noble banquet?”

Rod stared, caught short.

“Come, sir.” Gwen smiled roguishly. “Wouldst thou have us think thou hast not laid forth thy finest for the rescuers of thy King?”

“Assuredly, I have,” the Duke said heartily. “Yet I spoke not of game and pasties, but of battle.”

“Oh.” Rod nodded slowly. “You speak of this gallant expedition to free the northeast corner of Tir Chlis.”

“Aye, indeed.” The Duke’s eyelids drooped, and tension seemed to emanate from him, as from a lion who sees the antelope step near. “As I have told thee, in that broil I’ll face magics as well as spears. ‘Twould soothe me, then, to have stout warlocks by my side. How say you, Lord Gallowglass? Wilt thou dine at my table, and aid King Elidor?”

“That’s… a most attractive offer.” Rod found Gwen’s eyes. “To tell you the truth, nothing of the sort had occurred to me. We had been planning to get back home as fast as we could.”

“ ‘Tis a long and weary journey, I doubt not,” Gwen pointed out. “And, to tell the truth, we know not even where our homeland lies, nor how far it is.”

“We could use a rest,” Rod agreed, “and some time to find out where we are.” He glanced back at the Duke, and saw Elidor staring at him, suddenly tense.

But Magnus was sitting next to Rod, looking absolutely chirpy. Elidor noticed him, and relaxed a little.

“It is a very attractive offer,” Rod said to the Duke. “But you’ll understand, Milord, that w… I must consider it fully. I’ll give you my answer over breakfast.”

“I shall await it eagerly,” the Duke said, smiling. “Yet we have lingered long at table, and the hour doth grow late. No doubt thou’rt wearied.”

“Kind of,” Rod admitted. “A soft bed would feel good.”

“Then let us have no more of talk.” The Duke clapped his hands, and a functionary in a glittering tunic stepped forward. “Show these good people to their chambers!” The Duke stood. “Myself am minded also of my rest; the day has been demanding. Elidor—Majesty! Wilt thou come with me?”

Elidor rose slowly, still wary—and almost, Rod would have said, hopefully.

His uncle seized his shoulder; Elidor winced, and bit back a cry. “To bed, to bed!” the Duke sang jovially. “Good night to all!”

 

CHAPTER TEN

Amphibians?” Father Al stared at the screen of the electron-telescope, unbelieving.

“I’ve noticed a couple of true lizards, but they’re small.” Brother Chard shook his head. “I’m sorry, Father. We’ve been around this planet four times in four separate orbits, and that’s the highest form of life on any of the continents.”

“So there’s only that one large island with humans; the rest of the planet is carboniferous.” Father Al shook his head. “Well, if we needed anything to assure us that we’re dealing with a colony instead of native sentients, we’ve found it. Could you call up the recordings of that island, Brother Chard?”

The monk pushed buttons, and a large island appeared in the main viewscreen, a huge, uncut emerald floating in a blue sea. “Close in on that one large town, if you please,” Father Al murmured. A tiny hole in the greenery, a little north and west of the center of the island, began to grow; the shorelines disappeared beyond the edges of the screen. The dot swelled into an irregular, circular clearing, and other dots began to appear around it.

“Really the only settlement large enough to be called a town,” Father Al mused.

The roofs filled the screen now, with the spire of a church and the turrets of a castle reaching up toward them, from the crest of a hill off to the eastern edge of the town.

“It’s medieval architecture, Father—early Tudor, I’d guess.”

“Yes, but the castle’s got to be Thirteenth Century; I’d swear it was almost a reproduction of Château Gaillard. And the church is late Gothic; Fourteenth Century at the earliest.”

“Church! It’s a cathedral! Why does it look so familiar?”

“Possibly because you’ve seen pictures of the cathedral of Chartes. The original colonists don’t seem to have been terribly original; do they?”

Brother Chard frowned. “But if they were going to copy famous buildings from Terra, why didn’t they make them all from the same period?”

Father Al shrugged. “Why should they? Each century had its own beauties. No doubt some liked the Fifteenth Century, some the Fourteenth, some the Thirteenth… If we kept looking, Brother, I’m sure we’d find something Romanesque.”

Brother Chard peered at the screen as the camera zoomed in to fill it with an overhead view of a single street. “Apparently they applied the same principle to their clothing; there’s a bell-sleeved tunic next to a doublet!”

“And there’s a doublet with bell-sleeves.” Father Al shook his head. “I can almost hear their ancestors saying, ‘It’s my world, and I’ll do what I want with it!’ ”

Brother Chard turned to him with a sympathetic smile. “You’re going to have a bit of a problem with transportation, aren’t you?”

“I never did learn to ride a horse.” Father Al felt his stomach sink. “Appalling great brutes, aren’t they?”

Brother Chard turned back to the viewscreen. “Are you searching for just one man down there, Father? Or a community? ”

“One lone individual,” Father Al said grimly. “I can’t just punch up a directory and scan for his name, can I?” He thought of Yorick and had to fight down a slow swell of anger; the grinning jester could’ve prepared him for this!

“Under the circumstances,” Brother Chard said slowly, “I don’t really suppose there’s much point in following the usual protocol about landing.”

“Better try it, anyway, Brother,” Father Al sighed. “You wouldn’t want to be imprisoned on a technicality, now would you?”

“Especially not by all the King’s horses and all the King’s men.” Brother Chard shrugged. “Well, it can’t do any harm. Who could hear our transmission down there, anyway?” He set the communicator to “broadband” and keyed the microphone. “This is Spacecraft H394P02173 Beta Cass 19, the Diocese of Beta Casseiopeia’s St. lago, calling Gramarye Control. Come in, Gramarye Control.”

“We hear you, St. lago,” a resonant voice answered. “What is your destination?”

Father Al almost fell through his webbing.

“Did I hear that correctly?” Brother Chard stared at the communicator, goggle-eyed. He noted the frequency readout and reached forward to adjust the video to match it. An intent face replaced the overhead view of the town street, a thin face with troubled eyes and a dark fringe of hair cut straight across the forehead. But Father Al scarcely noticed the face; he was staring at the little yellow screwdriver handle in the breast pocket of the monk’s robe.

“What is your destination, St. la… Ah!” The face lit up, and the man’s gaze turned directly toward them as they came into sight on his screen. Then he stared. “St. lago, you are men of the cloth!”

“And your own cloth, too.” Father Al straightened up in his couch. “Father Aloysius Uwell, of the order of St. Vidicon of Cathode, at your service. My companion is Brother Chard, of the Order of St. Francis Assisi.”

“Father Cotterson, Order of St. Vidicon,” the monk returned, reluctantly. “What is your destination, Father?”

“Gramarye, Father Cotterson. I’ve been dispatched to find a man named Rod Gallowglass.”

“The High Warlock?” Father Cotterson’s voice turned somber.