"I worry about that," admitted Morgan. "But I know that I have effective Talents. There's no evidence that he has."
"He might have a Talent whose talent is confusing our Talents," Bors said with some sarcasm.
Morgan grinned tolerantly.
"Talk to these two. We've got some firm precognitions that make things look bad for Mekin."
He left the room. Gwenlyn remained, listening with interest when the conversation began, and now and then saying something of no great importance. But her presence kept Bors from feeling altogether like a fool. Madame Porvis looked at him with languishing, sentimental eyes. Harms watched him accusingly.
Their questions were trivial. Bors told about the landings on Tralee and on Garen. The woman asked for details that would help her picture feats of derring-do. Bors hesitated, and did not quite tell her about the truck drivers on Tralee who volunteered the information that their loads were booby-trapped. But he did stress the fact that the populations of dominated planets were on the thin edge of revolt. The suspicious Talent asked very little. He listened, frowning.
When it was over and they'd gone—the fat woman again somehow managing a gait which could only be called sinuous—Bors said abruptly, "What's this event you know of, a year ahead?"
"King Humphrey opening parliament on Kandar," said Gwenlyn pleasantly.
"There's another," said Bors, "which implies specifically that I'll still be alive."
"That?" said Gwenlyn. "That's another one. I won't talk about it. It implies that my father's going to retire from Talents, Incorporated."