“Drink brings all manner of illness to the body,” Chester said primly.
Gannon snatched the kerchief away from his lips. “What did you say?” he blazed at Dennis.
“Is there good water to drink out there?” the youth said calmly as the cows shouldered their way by the men. There didn’t seem to be any point in explaining that Chester was more than a mobile decoration; and anyway, the knowledge wouldn’t make Gannon less angry about the comment.
“How would I know?” Gannon muttered, slightly mollified. “The cows eat and drink, I suppose.”
He looked again at Dennis, realizing suddenly that the youth carried only his sword. “That is…” Gannon said. “That is—someone will bring your lunch out to you. Yes.”
Dennis was cold with the certainty that something was wrong. His elbows pressed his new garments tightly to his ribs. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’m used to the jungle, you know.”
His eyesight blurred despite the clarity of the artificial light. It would feel good to be out in the fresh air and daylight.
“None of you really do anything, do you?” Dennis said, voicing the insight that had suddenly surprised him.
“Don’t be a fool, boy!” Gannon snapped. “We all have our duties. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” the youth said. “But you’re courtiers—not traders or fishermen or anything. And it’s not even for a real king, for Conall. You’re courtiers for Rakastava itself.”
Gannon’s face grew still. His right hand dropped to his swordhilt and lifted the weapon enough that polished steel glinted above the lip of the scabbard. The handkerchief, caught between hand and pommel, fluttered absurdly.
Dennis balanced himself on the balls of his feet. His hand didn’t move to his own great sword, but he could dive away to the right if Gannon attacked and then—
Gannon shot his weapon back home in its sheath. His lifted his hand, noticed the kerchief—and flung it aside in displaced fury. “Don’t talk about what’s not your business, boy!” he said. “I warn you.”
“Fine,” Dennis said, turning and putting his hand on the warm, shaggy flank of the last of the herd. It bleated in bovine surprise, but there was nowhere to go except forward at the speed of the animal ahead. “I’ll be back at nightfall, then.”
Chester followed Dennis. If the King’s Champion tried to say anything further, his words were lost as the door flowed shut behind them.
Dennis did feel better outside. It was as though the huge mass of Rakastava had been pressing on his chest all the time he was in the city. Beneath all the magic and luxury lay a tension that was concealed until he got beyond the range of its power.
But the folk of Rakastava never stepped more than a few yards from their palace-city.
“If you trust your enemy,” Chester said, “you will curse the result in the end.”
“I don’t trust him,” Dennis said. He shivered in the warm air. “Chester, I don’t trust any of them. Except maybe… The girl seems to be different. Nicer, in a way…?”
Chester said nothing.
“Don’t you think?” Dennis insisted.
“It is through woman that both good and evil came to mankind,” the robot quoted.
“All right, all right,” Dennis said. “It’s not something that you can do for me.”
He rubbed Chester’s carapace with his knuckles; the curve of a tentacle caressed the back of his hand.
There were forty cows and a dozen calves in the herd; all of them short-horned and white with black markings. The way to the pasture was unmistakeable: the beasts had trampled a path through the jungle.
The trail was muddy, green with droppings, and only a foot wide on the ground. Higher up, the cows’ wide hips and rib cages had worn the vegetation away to a comfortable distance.
Among the familiar plants was a vine that Dennis didn’t remember having seen before. It had a thin, purplish stem; small leaves; and broad, black-pointed thorns. He kept a careful eye out for strands that had crept near enough to snag him—but though the vine was common just off the trail, it didn’t come threateningly close.
Dennis laughed. “I suppose if I tear up these clothes, the cabinet will give me another set,” he said.