“A mad monk,” he said, “who says he is sent by God to lead the people of Alaria to a holier form of government. He is an old hermit who is said to have worked miracles. He is quite mad but some of the people believe him and there will be trouble here unless something is done.”
“Why not arrest him?” I asked.
The doctor shook his head. “We would not dare,” he said. “In Alaria the supernatural is always a higher power than any other. But we have one sure savior.”
“Who?” John asked, though I saw he knew the answer.
“Fakat Zol, the Black Ghost,” the doctor said, simply. “If you do not keep quiet I cannot help hurting you. Our hetman has sent a message to him. He will come soon, I hope.”
“Do Alarian ghosts always come when they are sent for?” I asked.
“This is a live ghost,” the doctor answered, winding yards of bandage around John’s arm. “It is fortunate, too, for with a strange impostor in Herrovosca, to be crowned as Queen, and a prophet here, raising a mob, we need something more than police to keep order.”
“But surely,” I said, “if this Princess can establish her identity that will be the end of the trouble?”
“That has been the beginning of the trouble,” the doctor said, coldly. “No pretender can ever establish his identity to everyone’s satisfaction, nor can one ever be proved a fraud to everyone’s conviction. There will always be some who believe or disbelieve and make trouble. But something will happen. The Black Ghost, or Prince Conrad, who is the rightful king, will find a way to arrange matters.”
“Then,” I asked, “there are two rulers in Alaria now?”