56

A WIZAKD IN ABSENTIA

He waited for a response, but no one spoke. Eyes were wide and faces pale, but lips were sealed.

Grimly reassured, Magnus went on, “So suspicious a person might have noted that the logical way to remove the conflict was to unite the claimants—

and that Pelisse might therefore have been instructed to cultivate my affections.”

He expected a hot and outraged denial from the Countess and from Pelisse—but Matilda only looked away, her face pale, and Pelisse kept her gaze on the floor.

The Count glanced from one to the other with a scowl. So, then, he had not been in on it. He turned to Magnus, starting to speak—but, afraid it might be an apology, Magnus beat him to it. “Quite ridiculous, I know, and really showing only my own conceit—after all, though I would not say I was handsome, I flatter myself that being tall, muscular, and having a certain amount of presence, might make me not altogether unappealing. But, as I say, this shows only my own arrogance …”

“Indeed,” Robert muttered.

“… and after all,” Magnus went on, “so beautiful a lady as Pelisse certainly could not be in love with me. Could you, Pelisse?”

“No,” Pelisse admitted, though she almost stran-gled on the word.

Pain stabbed Magnus, even though he had already guessed the truth of it. But he kept his face grave and nodded. “No, of course not. I must ask your forgive-ness, fair cousin, for having presumed to fantasize as 57

much—but you are fair, after all, so I think I might be forgiven for a masculine weakness.”

“Of course,” Pelisse said, managing to raise a haunted gaze to him.

Robert stood silent and trembling, fists clenched, glaring hatred at Magnus.

Magnus took it as tribute and fed his confidence off the other man’s dislike. “Yes, quite ridiculous, all of it—beginning with the notion that I might wish to inherit.”

Instant consternation. All the minor relatives were talking at once; the Countess and Pelisse stared at him with huge, disbelieving eyes; and Robert’s jaw dropped.

“Come, now!” The Count raised a hand and waited till the tumult stilled, locking gazes with Magnus. When the room was still, he said, “Not wish to inherit? Turn your back on a billion-a-year business? Wealth and power, and a title with it? How could you not wish to inherit?”

Angered though he was, Magnus wasn’t quite vicious enough to tell the old man that he was no more interested in life imprisonment on a twenty-mile asteroid than the Count’s own son had been. “Worldly considerations aside, sir, there is the matter of quali-fication for the position. I know little about robotics and nothing of modern industry; I haven’t the slightest idea how to manage even one factory, let alone a whole complex. If I were to become Count, it would certainly be disastrous for d’Armand Automatons—

and the good of the family is, after all, paramount.”

He thought he had done that rather neatly.

But the Count waved these objections away. “You could learn, young man—and while you did, you would have excellent advisors. Have wealth and luxury no appeal to you?”

“No more than to any man.” Magnus chose his words carefully. “But I have another title waiting for me on my homeworld, and estates and wealth with it.” He didn’t bother saying that Rod’s title was probably not hereditary—he was sure the lands were.

Never mind that he would be expected to share them with his siblings—he wasn’t all that sure that he wanted to inherit on Gramarye, either. “But I wish to see something more of the universe before I tie myself down to one place. I do not yet wish to rest.”

“You will, though,” his great-uncle protested.

“When you’re tired of rambling, you will. And you’ll have become addicted to the pleasures of the modern world. What of the inheritance then, eh?”

Even now too polite to say that a mere asteroid would be too small for him, Magnus assured him,

“I would find a way to carve out a niche for myself, as my father has done.”

“Quite sure of that, are you?” The Count looked doubtful, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Quite,” Magnus confirmed. “In fact, I am so sure, that I will sign any documents you wish, relinquish-ing my claim to the title and the company.”

Everyone burst into disbelieving but delighted exclamations—except for the old Count. He kept his gaze on Magnus and rode out the hubbuK When it slackened, he raised a hand again, and gradually, the room stilled. “But what of your father?” the old man/p>

said then. “What of my nephew, eh? After all, he has the strongest claim of all. What assurance do we have that he will not show up seeking the title, eh?”

Magnus just barely managed to choke back a bark of laughter. The High Warlock of Gramarye, give up his castle and estates, his title and his world, for nothing but a tastelessly opulent mansion on an airless asteroid, where the use of the psionic powers he had discovered would have to be exercised so dis-creetly as to be virtually undetectable? Give up a world for this7.

He didn’t say that, of course. Gravely, he answered, “I cannot speak for my father; however, I very much doubt that Rod Gal—Rodney d’Armand will wish to give up his life’s work and his world, to take over the family business. I do suspect that he will probably wish to see you again, sir, and his brother, no matter Uncle Richard’s condition—but that he will not wish to stay. Assuming he can arrange transportation, that is.”

“Transportation?” The Count frowned. “How could he not? He had to have a ship to get where he is in the first place, didn’t he?”

Magnus felt a stab of guilt. “He did, sir, but he gave it to me, for my travels.”

“You mean he’s trapped there?” The Count shook his head, muttering—but Magnus saw the flare of hope in Matilda’s eyes. “We can’t have that!” the old man said. “Have to find a way to send him a ship, yes. After all, he is family.”

“I will send an inquiry, sir,” Magnus said politely,

“and ask him for a formal abdication of rights to the 60

claim—though I doubt that my father will be able to receive it”—again, the stab of guilt—“without his ship, and its guiding robot.”

“But I do not wish to inherit!” Pelisse cried, then lowered her eyes instantly.

“Pelisse!” her grandmother gasped, scandalized.

Again, the Count held up a hand for silence.

“What’s this, Granddaughter? Not wish to inherit!

But why?”

“Why, because I don’t know enough,” Pelisse sobbed. “I don’t, Grandmother! I’ve studied, I’ve learned as much as I can, I could design and build a robot from scratch, I know all the principles of management—but I’m frightened! I can’t bear the thought of having to manage the company on my own, the thought of all the members of the family who might suffer if I make too many mistakes!” She looked up at Matilda through her tears. “Can’t you understand that?”

Matilda stood rigid—then, unexpectedly, thawed.

She came over to her grandchild and put an arm around her shoulders. “Of course, dear, I understand—far better than you can know, in fact. But we must do what we’re given to do—must do as well as we can, and hope, darling, only hope.”

“You will not want for good advice,” the Count muttered.

“But it is I who will have to decide!” Pelisse wailed.

“You have said yourself that you have the knowledge.” Magnus frowned. “It is support you need, not 61

advice—emotional support, the knowledge that there is someone there to depend on, if you fail.”

“Of course!” Pelisse turned a tear-streaked face to him. “Now do you understand?”

“Quite well.” Magnus held himself still against a surge of anger, then turned to nod toward his rival.

“But you will pardon me for suggesting that your cousin Robert might be willing to be the staff upon which you might lean. His knowledge of these affairs is certainly far greater than mine—and, unless I quite mistake him, he would be very willing indeed.”

Now it was Pelisse who froze.

Matilda lifted her gaze slowly, seeking out Robert.

He braced himself visibly, and bore up under her scrutiny.

“So that is the way of it,” Matilda murmured. “All the time, and right beneath my nose, too. Really, child, you might have told me.”

“But you don’t approve of Robert,” Pelisse mumbled.

“As a liaison? Certainly not; he’s far too wild. But as a husband? Well, when he has settled down—who can tell? I’ll have to consider the matter—carefully.”

The Count turned a frosty glance on his kinsman.

“I think you had better be done sowing your wild oats, young man, and very quickly, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said meekly.

“I might also suggest,” said Magnus, “that your uncle the professor might find it possible, perhaps even desirable, to return to Maxima during the summers, when he is not preoccupied with teaching.

What is his field?”