Seu made a dismissing gesture. "Nothing. Not pleasant, but nothing. The same as usual—he tells me what happened, I deny it. He knows, but under their laws he can't do anything."
"Someday it will be bad," said Cudyk.
"Yes. Someday. Laszlo—you've got to do something about Harkway. Otherwise he's going to be killed tonight, and there will be a stink from here to Sirius. I had to tell him he could use Town Hall—he was all ready to hold a torch-light meeting in the streets."
"I tried," said Cudyk.
"Try again. Please. Your ethnic background is closer to his than mine. He respects you, I think. Perhaps he's even read some of your books. If anyone can persuade him, you can."
"What did he say when you talked to him?"
"An ox. A brain made of soap and granite. He says it is a matter of principle. I knew then that I could do nothing. When an Anglo-Saxon talks about his principles, you may as well go home. He won't accept a weapon, he won't postpone the meeting. I think he wants to be a martyr."
Cudyk frowned. "Maybe he does. Have you seen Rack?"
"No. Ferguson pretends not to know where he is."
"That's rather odd. What is his motive, do you think?"