Just a little patch this was in one of his cities. For, you see, by the lapse of time and the development of his ancient empire, he was the rightful owner and ruler of this city and of every other city in the world.
And he had come back to heal the swarming world’s disorders and reinstate the deep peace of old Sumeria once again.
§ 2
But how to set about this task?
That was the difficulty. There must be no Half Advent. He must take hold swiftly and decisively he realized, and from the balustrading in front of the National Gallery it looked a large, loose, scattering sort of world to take hold of. It might refuse to be taken hold of. If he began now, if he began to shout from this place, it was more than likely that no one would heed him. He must watch warily for his opportunity and make no mistakes. It did not become the Lord and Restorer of the Whole Earth to make mistakes.
Now, for example, that had nearly been a mistake at Buckingham Palace. It had blown over all right but it might have had serious consequences. People did not know the Master yet, had no inkling. “They might,” said Sargon, lapsing into a Preemby homeliness “have run me in. And a Pretty Fool I should have looked then!”
There must be no more hasty action of that sort.
No. Indeed it became him rather to wait for guidance.
The Power that had brought him back into the world and awakened him to a sense of his true identity and his mission, might be trusted presently to send him an enlightened supporter or so—who would recognize him. Because, of course, he must resemble the monarch he had been—even as Hockleby had been recognizably like Prewm. As he weighed this thought his hand sought his moustache and he twisted it thoughtfully. It was in effect a disguise. Meanwhile—? Meanwhile he must see what he could, determine the mood of the people and learn their particular needs and distresses. He could go among his people unsuspected—like Haroun al Raschid, but for a wiser purpose....
“Haroun al Raschid,” whispered Sargon and looked up to Lord Nelson and nodded to him in a friendly way. “Haroun al Raschid. Would that my pocket was full of pieces of gold! But of that to-morrow. That man—what was his name?—Preemby had a bank somewhere.”