“The man’s an idiot!” cried the Tapster. “All that nonsense about the people’s bank and such! No, no, young man, you’re quite mistaken in all this!”
There followed a lengthy discourse on the competing theories which guided, or failed to guide, the daily life of the Mutt. It all went over my head, other than a general sense that people here seemed well enough pleased with their arrangements. And the beer and oysters were excellent.
When we were finished, Gwendolyn asked if there were some service she could provide for the Tapster, but he waved it off. He seemed rather offended, in fact.
“What?” he demanded. “Am I an ignoramus? A provincial cloddy, doesn’t know a use value from an exchange value?” He sucked in his paunch, more or less, and assumed a pose of stern wisdom.
“I assume you’re here on movement business?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“Well, then, that’s settled! Is there any greater use value for one’s labor that to strive for the overthrow of the established order? ‘Course not! So I feel the beer and arsters have been made good already.”
The look of stern wisdom was now bestowed upon me.
“Don’t know about him, though. Is he here on movement business, too?”
Gwendolyn started to explain my role in our escape from Goimr, but I interrupted.
“Nothing that could match this fine brew and—arsters. I’ve a bit of a knack for signs, however. I believe yours could use some improvement?”
A bit of friendly haggling ensued—although I’m not sure the word “haggling” fits a discussion in which the perverted concept of money never reared its head. At the end, it was agreed that I would fix up various unsightly aspects of the Free Lunch. Beer and arsters, needless to say, remained on the house.
There was one awkward moment.
“And will you be needing one room, or two?” asked the Tapster, his face bland and unreadable.
A moment’s silence followed.
“Two rooms,” I said quickly. Gwendolyn took a deep draught of ale. We sat side by side for several minutes, saying nothing.
“I’ll be going,” announced Mario. “I’ll spread the word you’re here, Gwendolyn. From what little Mishka told me, I gather you’ll need to be talking to people.”
“Thank you, Mario. And can you get word to the General? I’ll need to see him soon.”
“Certainly. I’ll warn you, however, that you probably won’t get many people here this afternoon. There’s a new civil war scheduled for four o’clock, and the betting’s been pretty fierce. Not many people’ll want to miss it.”
“Really?” Gwendolyn’s interest was aroused. “What are the odds?”
“The Oligarchy’s favored. The Republic’s considered a serious contender, though I don’t for the life of me understand why. The Aristocracy of the Robe is thought to have a good chance. The Aristocracy of the Sword’s weak. And the Democracy’s a joke, of course.”
“How about the Monarchy?”
Mario smiled, rubbed his nose. “Well, now, there’s what’s interesting. I’ve a feeling—let’s just say I’m betting on the Monarchy, and leave it at that.”
“You know something?”
“Just a feeling, just a feeling.”
Gwendolyn frowned, then smiled. “What the hell? Life can’t be all business. Let’s go! Like to watch a proper civil war, Benvenuti?”
Actually, the prospect of fratricidal slaughter didn’t seem too attractive on such a fine afternoon, but I noticed that the patrons of the tavern were already streaming out, gabbling with excitement. Odd place, the Mutt.
* * *
Not much later, Mario pulled his cab over to the side of a street near what seemed to be the center of the Doghouse, if such a strange town could be said to have a center to it. At least, there was a very large square, around which a multitude had gathered, lining the sidewalks and perched on the surrounding rooftops.
Not more than a minute after we arrived, a disordered and shabby-looking mob entered the square from the north, chanting the praises of freedom and democracy. They were greeted by shouts of derision from the onlookers.
Derision which was well deserved, let me say, for it was not a moment later that a much more prosperous-looking and well-ordered mob poured in from the east and rapidly set the Democracy to flight with a few well-delivered curses and blows.