At Castle Smith the sovereign was fretful, despite the fact that that very morning the new Granny’d flown in behind his Magician of Rank on his Mule and taken up residence in the Castle. She looked mean enough, and she talked the formspeech in a way that was a consolation to ears long used to hearing it, and having her there filled a hole that’d been gnawing at him. But he was not happy. He sat on the throne set up for him in the Castle Ballroom, now known as the Throne Room, and fidgeted, while his Queen watched him distractedly.
“She can’t do it,” said King Delldon Mallard Smith the 2nd. “I don’t believe she can do it!”
“She’s done it,” answered Lincoln Parradyne.
“She’s got no right!”
“On the contrary, Your Majesty-she has every right. Or, to be more accurate, Brightwater Kingdom has every right.”
“There has always been the comset network on Ozark, Lincoln Parradyne. From the very . . . uh . . . first. The comsets supply our news. They carry our messages. They provide our education and our entertainment. They are everything that on Old Earth had to be done by a mail service, and a telephone service, and a television service, and a radio service, and a-”
“Your Majesty,” interrupted the Magician of Rank, “I am familiar with the history of Earth. And I assure you that the comsets have done far more than all the services and media of that misbegotten planet combined. We will be greatly inconvenienced without them.”
“Then-”
“But, Your Highness, Responsible of Brightwater is as much within her rights to restrict the range of the comsets to the Kingdom of Brightwater as she would be to keep its buildings there, or its Mule herds there, or anything else that belongs to it. Brightwater provided the comset service to the Confederation, not to the Kingdoms-and the Confederation is no more.”
The King pulled at his lower lip, and blew out a long breath. “You didn’t mention this point to me before the Jubilee,” he said accusingly.
“On the contrary again, Your Majesty. I did.”
“I remember no such thing.”
“He did,” put in the Queen. “I was there at the time, and for sure he did. You laughed at him. You said he was talking nonsense. You told him not to bother you with stories meant to scare tadlings, when you had important business to discuss. I remember most distinctly.”
“Well, whatever happened-not that I’m admitting it, you . . . uh . . . understand, I tell you nobody mentioned it to me!-but isn’t there a law? Can’t she be stopped?”
Lincoln Parradyne raised his eyebrows.
“Your Majesty,” he protested, “the comset stations, and the equipment, and all the transmitters and relays, all those things, are the property of Castle Brightwater. The reply that was given to me yesterday by Jonathan Cardwell Brightwater-saying that to continue comset transmission would be an act of interference in the internal affairs of the sovereign Kingdoms-was absolutely right. Not to mention the expense, of course.”
“Even if the sovereign Kingdoms desire to be interfered with?” demanded Delldon Mallard, ignoring the part about expense. “In that one way only, of course.”
“Really, Your Majesty!” said Lincoln Parradyne. “Think what you are saying. Either we are independent, or we are not.”
“Perhaps,” ventured the King, “Responsible of Brightwater has a price.”
“I doubt that,” said Marygold flatly.
“Even if she did-where would you get that price? You have not yet established a Royal Treasury, and it’s not because I haven’t reminded you.”
The point was a sore one with the King, who’d been putting off by every means possible the inevitable moment when he would have to inform his subjects of the new realities of taxation, and explain to them just what services they would be receiving from him in return for their funds. He did not have that worked out to his satisfaction as yet, and he was not so thick-headed that he did not realize it might take some fancy talking to bring it off. Taxes in the past had gone to Brightwater, and the services provided had been both obvious and welcome; things would be different now.
“Lincoln Parradyne?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“How about our building . . . uh . . . our own comset rig? It’s not secret how it’s done, is it?”
“No, it’s not secret. It was part of the information brought along when we landed here; it’s available to anybody.”
“Then let’s do it!” It seemed very obvious to the King.
“All of the Kingdoms,” said the Magician of Rank, “now that the Confederation has finally been dissolved, will have to consider that option. They might each build their own networks . . . they might go back to sending information by riders on Muleback . . . they might take up some of the devices of Earth. But it will take some time, Your Majesty. The decision must be made in each case, separately. The funds must be found. The necessary technicians must be found, or hired from elsewhere. A communication network requires experts, and money, and time.”
“Do we have the people we need, here in this Kingdom?” asked Queen Marygold practically. “Seems to me that’s the first question.
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then where do you reckon-”
“Marygold of Purdy!” said the King. “I have asked you, now that you are a Queen, to be more careful of your speech. If the Magicians of Rank can manage to talk without sounding like Grannys, surely you can do the same!”
Lincoln Parradyne forbore to mention the pitiful weakness of that argument, and answered his Queen directly.
“Madam,” he said respectfully, “so far as I know they are all to be found on Marktwain-in Brightwater.”
“Curse that female!” shouted the King of Smith. “Curse her!”
“Delldon, you have no way of knowing that Responsible of Brightwater is the one that ordered the comsets cut back,” said his Queen. “It was Jonathan Cardwell Brightwater that spoke to Lincoln Parradyne when you sent him inquiring, not that girl.”
The King sputtered helplessly about the ignorance of women, and his Magician of Rank moved to smooth the waters.
“I am much afraid, my dear Queen,” he said, “that the King is correct. Whoever may speak for Brightwater, it is Responsible that holds the reins of power.”
“That’s very odd,” commented Marygold of Purdy. “I don’t understand it at all, and I don’t see it as proper or fitting. How can a girl of fifteen be running a whole Kingdom?”
While Delldon Mallard was explaining that it wasn’t that way at all, it was just that as was entirely suitable the Family at Brightwater saw fit to leave a lot of trivial detail work to the elder daughter, in the same way that he and Marygold left such stuff to Dorothy of Smith, the Magician of Rank mulled over the question. Not for the first, nor yet for the thousandth time. If he had the answer to that question, he would have the secret to all the mysteries. But seeing as how he didn’t have, and no number of Formalisms & Transformations tried by him or any of the other Magicians of Rank would yield it up, there was little point in fretting over it. And so he smiled and spread his hands to indicate that he was as puzzled by it all as Marygold was.
“There is always a Responsible-though not always of Brightwater,” mused the Queen, leaning her chin on her hand. “And there always has been, so far as I know . . . and always she has had some special place. And yet she is not a Granny, and not a Magician, and not a Magician of Rank. . . And if you try to talk about it when you’re little, the Grannys tell you it’s not polite and shush you right up.” She stared up at the ceiling, high above her head, and concluded: “I wonder how it works?”
“On Earth,” grumbled the King, “people did not understand science-and we know . . . uh . . . where that led. Here, we do not understand magic. And who’s to say it won’t lead to the same place?”
Lincoln Parradyne Smith was taken aback; it was a very perceptive thing to say, and sounded as odd in his sovereign’s mouth as a bray would have. He hadn’t thought the man had it in him.
“Nicely put, Sire,” he said with great formality, bowing low. “Nicely put.”