122

A WIZARD IN ABSENTIA

“Neat,” Ragnar said sourly. “Very neat.”

Magnus had trouble following it all; where he came from, you paid what tax you were told, or you went to prison. He made a note to look up Terran tax laws.

“Didn’t the second generation feel as though they were getting short shrift?” Lancorn asked.

“No—they knew their day was coming, and in the meantime, they were enjoying power and privilege.

When they reached retirement age and grew weary of the fleshpots of Terra, they moved to Taxhaven and left the third generation to take care of business on Terra and the inner planets.”

“Of course, they had been waiting in demure patience for their turn at power,” Siflot murmured.

“Very good, Siflot,” Allouene said, with surprised approval. “I thought you’d never say anything. Gar, you might work on that, too. No, the grandchildren had been fuming at not being the big cheeses, so they didn’t mind being left holding the moneybag when Poppa and Momma wanted to retire to the boondocks.”

“Then Poppa and Momma could champ at the bit.” The idiom came easily to Magnus, and he was probably the only one there who understood what it really meant.

“A word to the wise was sufficient.” Allouene gave Magnus a slow smile. “Will you always do as I bid you?”

Magnus felt the thrill pass through him, and give her a smile in return. “Always awaiting your ‘come hither,‘Madame.”