ed by human servants.

He was wondering what sort of court functions Angus the First of
Gram was holding by now.

After half an hour, a posse of court functionaries approached and
informed him that it had pleased his Majesty to command Prince Trask
to attend him in his private chambers. There was an audible gasp at
this; both Prince Bentrik and the Crown Prince were trying not to
grin too broadly. Evidently this didn't happen too often. He followed
the functionaries from the ballroom, and the eyes of everybody else
followed him.

* * * * *

Old King Mikhyl received him alone, in a small, comfortably shabby
room behind vast ones of incredible splendor. He wore fur-lined
slippers and a loose robe with a fur collar, and his little black
cap-of-maintenance. He was standing when Trask entered; when the
guards closed the door and left them alone, he beckoned Trask to
a couple of chairs, with a low table, on which were decanters and
glasses and cigars, between.

"It's a presumption on royal authority to summon you from the
ballroom," he began, after they had seated themselves and filled
glasses. "You are quite the cynosure, you know."

"I'm grateful to Your Majesty. It's both comfortable and quiet here,
and I can sit down. Your Majesty was the center of attention in the
throne room, yet I seemed to detect a look of relief as you left it."

"I try to hide it, as much as possible." The old King took off the
little gold-circled cap and hung it on the back of his chair.
"Majesty can be rather wearying, you know."

So he could come here and put it off. Trask felt that some gesture
should be made on his own part. He unfastened the dress-dagger from
his belt and laid it on the table. The King nodded.

"Now, we can be a couple of honest tradesmen, our shops closed for
the evening, relaxing over our wine and tobacco," he said. "Eh,
Goodman Lucas?"

It seemed like an initiation into a secret society whose ritual he
must guess at step by step.

"Right, Goodman Mikhyl."

They lifted their glasses to each other and drank; Goodman Mikhyl
offered cigars, and Goodman Lucas held a light for him.

"I hear a few hard things about your trade, Goodman Lucas."

"All true, and mostly understated. We're professional murderers and
robbers, as one of my fellow tradesmen says. The worst of it is that
robbery and murder become just that: a trade, like servicing robots
or selling groceries."

"Yet you fo