The Warlock's Companion (35 page)

Rod looked around at his family. "You'll pardon me if I feel a certain sense of satisfaction about that.''

"As well thou shouldst." Sola stepped forward, arms outstretched as though to embrace them. "I thank thee all, most earnestly; thou hast rescued me from ancient suffering." She turned to Magnus. "Yet most greatly I thank thee, good youth, for I do know 'twas thee who did most earnestly press to aid me. 'Tis thou hast ope'd the way for me, that I may leave this mundane sphere, and commence my journey up toward Heaven."

"I… I was honored…"

"As I am honored by thee! Be sure that, if I do gain the Blessed Mede, thou wilt ever have a friend in the hereafter!"

Then she turned, lifting a hand. "Farewell, good friends—and pray for me!"

Then she was gone.

The hall lay dark and still, except for the murmuring of the flames on the hearth.

"Pray I shall," Magnus murmured, gazing at the space where she had been, "and may thy journey be brief and blessed, beauteous lass."

But a friend, Rod noted, was not what he'd wanted.

The hall was quiet, and Cordelia and the younger boys were finishing straightening the furniture that had been tumbled about in the wake of the ghosts. Geoffrey, of course, had complained before, during, and after. "Wherefore hath Magnus not aided, too, Mama?"

"Hush," Gwen said. "Let thy brother alone awhile, to let the pieces of his heart join together again."

Cordelia looked up, startled. "Was he heartbroken, then?"

"Let's just say that his feelings had become too thick on one side, and too thin on the other," Rod hedged. "He needs to get them into balance now."

"It makes no sense," Geoffrey grumbled, and went off to Fess, in search of sanity.

Gwen looked out the nearest of the high, thin windows, and just barely espied the small, antique cemetery outside the castle walls.

"What do you see?" Rod said softly.

"Our lad," she answered, equally hushed. "He doth stand quite still, gazing upon a tombstone."

"Ah." Rod nodded. "Sola's, no doubt. Poor kid—I know how he feels."

Gwen turned to stare at him, startled. "Dost thou so!"

Rod gazed deeply into her eyes before he let the smile lift the corners of his mouth. "Why, of course, dear," he said quietly. "You know you had to heal my heart, when you found it."

She gazed back at him, then slowly smiled, too. She turned to wrap his arms about her, her back to his chest, resting her head against his shoulder as she gazed out at the youth confronting death below them. "Will he, too, find one to heal him?"

"We can only hope," Rod breathed, "hope that he, too, will someday meet a woman who will make all his previous wounds unimportant."

She looked up into his eyes, and hers held stars.

Across the hall, Cordelia watched them, pensive and thoughtful. "Fess?"

"Yes, Cordelia?"

"Was Mama the only lass who ever fell a-love with Papa?"

"I have spoken to you before, about asking personal questions about your father's past." Fess was instantly severe. "Such information is definitely confidential. You must ask your father to tell you."

"But he will never tell me of these things that truly matter, Fess!"

"Then neither shall I, Cordelia."

"But are we never to learn more of Father's wanderings?" Gregory asked.

Fess was still a moment, then said, "I cannot say, children. It will depend on your father's permission, of course…"

"And he will never give it!" Geoffrey said, in disgust.

Fess stood mute.

Cordelia noticed, and said, "Dost thou think he might, good Fess?"

"One can never tell, Cordelia. Even I cannot tell what your father will agree to, when the time and the circumstances are correct."

"There may be more tales, then?" Gregory asked hopefully.

"Oh, certainly there will be more stories! You had many ancestors, children, and not all of them lived dull lives. Whenever you wish, you have but to…"

"Now!"

"Another ancestor, Fess!"

"They are ours, after all!"

"Tell!"

"Well, not immediately," the horse temporized. "Even I feel the need of rest and reflection, after the upheaval of our confrontation with Count Foxcourt."

"At bedtime, then?"

"At bedtime," Fess agreed, "or perhaps another day."

"Tomorrow," Cordelia said brightly, "
is
another day."

Jose rose to go report to his supervisor. It meant his job, but that was better than having a robot go wild and kill somebody because of a programming flaw.

He knocked on the door. "Al?"

The door was open. Al looked up and smiled. "Hi, Jose. What gives?" Then he saw the look on the younger man's face and straightened. "Come on in. Need to sit down?"

" 'Fraid so, Al." Jose sat down carefully, feeling old.

"So what happened?"

"I copied the Declaration of Independence into a robot brain along with the operating program."

Al just sat very still, his eyes growing very, very round. Then he said, "You copied the WHAT?"

"The Declaration of Independence."

Al erupted into guffaws.

Jose stared, then frowned. "It's not funny, Al! We've got to catch it before it's installed!"

"I—I'm sorry," Al managed. Then his face split into a grin, and he was off again. He leaned back in his chair and held his belly, whooping with glee.

Jose sighed and waited for it to pass. Illogically, he began to feel there might be hope.

Finally, Al got himself under control and leaned forward, grinning. "I'm sorry about that, Jose—but you have to admit, this is a new one. How'd you manage
that
?"

Jose spread his hands, the picture of forlornness. "I called it up to check something that was bothering me, then left it on scroll when I went to help Bob. By the time I came back, it was off the screen, and I'd forgotten about it."

"But it was still in memory." Al shook his head with a grin. "Who else would get so upset about something in the Declaration?"

"It was an argument," Jose muttered.

"On the other hand," Al answered himself, "who else would come report it right away, instead of trying to cover up?" He finally managed to look sympathetic. "You're right, Jose, this could be bad. What kind of program was it?"

"One of those new ones—the FCC series."

Al smiled. "Well, at least, if you had to do it, you used one that's just into production." Then he turned thoughtful. "Wait a minute, though—maybe it's not a total loss."

Jose felt a surge of hope and tried to ignore it. "How?"

"That's the 'Faithful Cybernetic Companion' series. The program's for extreme loyalty, as well as the usual total obedience." Al turned to his screen and called up the program. "It just might be strong enough to counter the Declaration."

Jose frowned. "How could it…" Then his face lit up. "Of course! If the robot's extremely loyal to you, it can be totally independent, and still be on your side!"

Al nodded. "Independence might counter an inclination toward obedience, but loyalty would make the robot do what his owner said to, anyway—unless there was a damn good reason not to." He shrugged. "But all our programs have overrides for illegal or blatantly unethical commands, anyway."

Jose felt excitement building. "Then the robot might not have to be destroyed?"

"And you might not have to be fired." Al nodded. "I'm routing this whole snafu over to programming to be checked. I don't think there'll be any problem, though—this time." He turned back to Jose, suddenly totally serious. "But don't let it happen again—okay?"

Jose stared straight into Al's eyes and nodded slowly. "Never, Al. My word."

"Who was the argument with, anyway?"

Jose swallowed. "My wife."

Al turned grave. "Not much you can do about that. But next time, if you're upset, don't come in. All right?"

Jose nodded slowly. "I promise, Al. Better not here at all, than not all here."

Al grinned. "You got it. And you still have your job."

But Jose's attention had drifted again. He was thinking that, if a robot could be independent down to its most basic programming and still be intensely loyal, maybe a person could, too. And if that was so, maybe it was possible to be really independent but still be married, after all. He whistled, and went back to his work.