The Warlock in Spite of Himself - Warlock 01 Read Online Free PDF Page A

where Fess stood waiting.
    He was into the saddle without breaking stride. 'The good part of town,' he whispered, 'fast and quiet.'
    Fess could extrude inch-thick rubber pads from his hooves when silence was called for-, he had also memorized a photo-map of the city from their aerial survey. There are advantages to a robot horse. They fled through the town; the ground rose beneath them, building into the hill crowned by the royal castle. The quality of the buildings improved gradually they were coming to the more affluent districts.
    'What do you make of all that, Fess?'
    'A totalitarian movement, beyond question,' the robot replied. 'A rabble-rouser, no doubt power-hungry, who will lead the people to make demands on the government, demands which cannot be met. The crown's refusals will be used to incite the mob to violence, and you have your revolution made.'
    'Couldn't be just an ambitious nobleman trying to usurp the crown?'
    'Usurpation derives its support from the upper classes, Rod. No, this is a proletarian revolution - a prelude to a totalitarian government.'
    Rod pursed his lips. 'Would you say there was evidence of outside intervention from a more advanced society? I mean, proletarian revolutions aren't usually found in this kind of culture, are they?'
    'Rarely, Rod, and the propaganda is rudimentary when they do occur. Persuasion in a medieval society never refers to basic rights; the concept is alien to the culture. The probability of intervention is quite strong.. ..'
    Rod's lips pulled back in a savage grin. 'Well, old mechanism, it looks like we've come to the right place to set up shop.'
    At the uphill edge of the town, they came on a rambling, two-storied structure built around three sides of a torch lit courtyard. A timber palisade with a gate closed the fourth side. A party of laughing, welldressed young men sauntered out of the gate; Rod caught a snatch of drunken song. Tableware rattled, and voices called for meat and ale.
    'I take it we've found one of the better inns.'
    'I would say that was a warranted assumption, Rod.' Rod leaned back in the saddle. 'Looks like a good place to spend the night. Is garlic sausage possible in this culture, Fess?'
    The robot shuddered. 'Rod, you have the most unearthly tastes!'
    'Make way, make way!' a voice trumpeted behind him. Turning, Rod saw a party of soldiers, cavalry, trotting toward him. Behind them rolled a gilded, richly-carved carriage.
    A herald rode in front of the soldiers. 'Stand aside from the road, fellow I' he called. 'The Queen's coach passes!'
    'Queen!' Rod's eyebrows shot up. 'Yes, yes! By all means, let's stand aside!'
    He nudged Fess with his knee. The horse whirled off the road and jockeyed for a position on the shoulder that would give Rod a good look at the royal party.
    The curtains on the coach were half drawn, but there was looking space. A lantern cast a warm yellow glow inside the coach, affording Rod a brief glimpse as the coach spun by.
    A slender, frail form wrapped in a dark, hooded traveling cloak; a pale, small-boned face framed with blonde, almost platinum hair; large, dark eyes; and small, very red lips drawn up in a pout. And young, very young - scarcely past childhood, Rod thought. She sat ramrod straight, looking very fragile but also very determined
    - and, somehow, forlorn, with the hostile, chip-on-the-shoulder attitude that so often goes with fear and loneliness. Rod stared after the retreating party.
    'Rod.'
    Rod started, shook his head, and realized that the coach had been out of sight for a while.
    He glowered at the back of the horse's head. 'What is it, Fess?'
    'I wondered if you'd fallen asleep.' The black head turned to Rod, the great eyes laughing gently.
    'No.' Rod twisted, looking back at the turn where the coach had disappeared.
    Fess schooled his voice to patience. 'The Dream again, Rod?'
    Rod scowled. 'I thought robots didn't have emotions.'
    'No. But we do have an innate dislike of a lack of that quality which