"That, too," Miguel said. "I rule, and it is my life to rule. I have ruled four hundred years, and I will rule four thousand more—or four thousand thousand, or four million. But I can never stop ruling. It is a burden I can never put down. Who would fill the vacuum I would leave?"
"There were rulers before the Twelve Dukes."
"And they destroyed the world! Destroyed it—and in so doing, brought us into being. No, stranger, my Dukedom I can never put down. But it wearies me to make always the petty decisions, to govern the lives of petty—"
"Why are you telling me all this?" Kesley burst out.
"Mere amusement," Miguel said evenly. "I enjoy talking to you. What is your name?"
"Dale Kesley."
"Dale Kesley," Miguel repeated. "A fine North American name, square-cut and undistinguished. I like it."
The Duke gestured toward a communicator-tube on his desk. "Bring that to me."
Shrugging, Kesley handed him the tube. Miguel switched it on. "Send Archbishop Santana here at once," he barked, and cut the channel.
He glanced at Kesley. "The Archbishop will swear you to my service, Dale Kesley."