“Window dressing,” Count Godfrey called them afterwards, when the two Arkadians were alone. Studying the amber fluid that swirled in the bottom of a balloon-shaped glass, his wrinkled face broke into a sly but gentle smile. “When you’re planning something the other side won’t like, do it under their noses if it’s possible.”
Duke Harald grinned. He and Count Godfrey were, despite the difference in age and rank, old friends. The count had been his military tutor, when he was young in knighthood; now, he was Duke Harald’s chief supporter, confidant, and almost elder brother.
“Well,” said Count Godfrey, “out with it. What progress, after another month among the bright lights and brighter brains of Terra?”
“Little that is definite—much indefinite, unproven,” was the sober answer. “However… well, at risk of boring you with what you already know, I’m going to think out loud for a bit. This constant feeling of having to be on guard against telepathy,” Duke Harald added wryly, “is more than a trifle wearying. Or do I need to tell you that?”
“No,” said the other, sipping his brandy. “Think away.”
“Right. First, then, the aliens. We are agreed that to settle that problem Arkady needs both telepathy and a unified royal government. The present Council of Peers is too unwieldy and too divided to function effectively in any all-out war.”
“Agreed.”
“However, the only candidate for the crown who would have a chance of gaining solid majority support in the Council—thus avoiding civil war—must be able to convince the other peers that he can do what they cannot. The esper skill could supply that conviction.
“And, finally, Terra is the only human world where such skills can be learned. Unfortunately, the minimum training • period is two years. And, Council politics being what they are, our so-far hypothetical aspirant to the throne would be bold indeed to absent himself from Arkady for more than two or three months, at most.”
“Yet you are here.”