Free Gordon R. Dickson by Wolfling Page A

hypnotic pressure relaxed.
    “Well, I see I’m not going to find out that way,” said Vhotan, almost to himself. His gaze sharpened upon Jim again, but in an ordinary rather than a hypnotic fashion. “But I suppose you understand that I can easily find out if you’ve been telling the truth or not.”
    “I assumed you could,” said Jim.
    “Yes… .” Vhotan became thoughtful again. “There’s a good deal more here than surface indication implies… . Let’s see, the Emperor can act on Slothiel’s application for sponsorship, of course. But I think you’ll need more than that. Let’s see… .”
    Vhotan turned his head abruptly to the right and spoke to empty air.
    “Lorava!”
    The thin young Highborn appeared.
    “The Emperor is appointing this Wolfling to an Award Commission as unit officer in the Starkiens. See to the details and his assignment to a section of the palace guard … . And send Melness to me.”
    Lorava disappeared again. About three seconds later another, smaller man materialized where he had stood.
    He was a slim, wiry man in typical white tunic and kilt with close-cropped reddish hair and a skin that would almost have matched the color of Jim’s own if there had not been a sort of sallow, yellowish tinge to it. His face was small and sharp-featured, and the pupils of his eyes were literally black. He was clearly not one of the Highborn but there was an air of assurance and authority about him which transcended that even of the armed bodyguards called Starkiens.
    “Melness,” said Vhotan, “this man is a Wolfling—the one that just put on the spectacle in the arena a few hours ago.”
    Melness nodded. His black eyes flickered from Vhotan to Jim, and back to the tall old Highborn once more.
    “The Emperor is appointing him to an Award Commission in the Starkiens of the palace guard. I’ve told Lorava to take care of the assignment but I’d like you to see to it that his duties are made as nominal as possible.”
    “Yes, Vhotan,” answered Melness. His voice was a hard-edged, masculine tenor. “I’ll take care of it—and him.”
    He vanished, in his turn. Vhotan looked once more at Jim
    “Melness is majordomo of the palace,” Vhotan said. “In fact, he’s in charge, at least in theory, of all those not Highborn on the Throne World. If you have any difficulties, see him. Now, you can return to your own quarters. And don’t come here again unless you’re sent for!”
    Jim visualized the room where he had left Ro and Slothiel. He felt the slight feather touch on his mind, and at once he was back there.
    Both of them, he saw, were still there. Ro rushed at him the minute she saw him and threw her arms around him. Slothiel laughed.
    “So you came back,” said the languid Highborn. “I had a hunch you would. In fact, I offered to bet on the point with Ro here—but she’s not the betting kind. What happened to you?”
    “I’ve been given an Award Commission in the Starkiens,” said Jim calmly. His eyes met Slothiel’s. “And Vhotan tells me that the Emperor will act promptly upon your offer to sponsor me.”
    Ro let go of him and stepped backward, staring up at him in astonishment. Slothiel condescended to raise his eyebrows in surprise.
    “Jim!” said Ro in a wondering tone. “What—what did happen?”
    Briefly Jim told them. When he was done, Slothiel whistled admiringly and cheerfully.
    “Excuse me,” he said. “This looks like a good chance to clean up on a few small bets before the rest of the Throne World hears about your promotions.”
    He disappeared. Ro, however, had not moved. Looking down at her, Jim saw that her face was tightened by lines of worry.
    “Jim,” she said hesitantly, “Vhotan did ask exactly that about me, did he? … About whether I might’ve suggested that you go to the Emperor that way? And he asked that after he remembered that I was in Afuan’s household?”
    “That’s right,” said Jim. He smiled a little bleakly. “Interesting,