"To Trantor?" The emperor was blank and uncomprehending.
"Sire, the Viceroy of Anacreon, in whose name we speak, sends word that Gilmer is yet alive-"
"Alive! Alive!" thundered Dagobert. "Where? It will be war!"
"Your imperial majesty, it must not yet be known. His whereabouts are uncertain. The viceroy sends us to acquaint you of the fact, and it is only on Trantor that we may find his hiding place. Once discovered-"
"Yes, yes - He must be found-" The old emperor doddered to the wall and touched the little photocell with a trembling finger. He muttered, after an ineffectual pause, "My servants do not come. I can not wait for them."
He was scribbling on a blank sheet, and ended with a flourished "D." He said, "Gilmer will yet learn the power of his emperor. Where was it you came from? Anacreon? What are the conditions there? Is the name of the emperor powerful?"
Bayta took the paper from his loose fingers, "Your imperial majesty is beloved by the people. Your love for them is widely known."
"I shall have to visit my good people of Anacreon, but my doctor says... I don't remember what he says, but-" He looked up, his old gray eyes sharp, "Were you saying something of Gilmer?"
"No, your imperial majesty."
"He shall not advance further. Go back and tell your people that. Trantor shall hold! My father leads the fleet now, and the rebel vermin Gilmer shall freeze in space with his regicidal rabble."
He staggered into a seat and his eyes were blank once more. "What was I saying?"
Toran rose and bowed low, "Your imperial majesty has been kind to us, but the time allotted us for an audience is over. "
For a moment, Dagobert IX looked like an emperor indeed as he rose and stood stiff-backed while, one by one, his visitors retreated backward through the door - to where twenty armed men intervened and locked a circle about them.
A hand-weapon flashed-
To Bayta, consciousness returned sluggishly, but without the "Where am I?" sensation. She remembered clearly the odd old man who called himself emperor, and the other men who waited outside. The arthritic tingle in her finger joints meant a stun pistol.
She kept her eyes closed, and listened with painful attention to the voices.
There were two of them. One was slow and cautious, with a slyness beneath the surface obsequity. The other was hoarse and thick, almost sodden, and blurted out in viscous spurts. Bayta liked neither.
The thick voice was predominant.
Bayta caught the last words, "He will live forever, that old madman. It wearies me. It annoys me. Commason, I will have it. I grow older, too."
"Your highness, let us first see of what use these people are. It may be we shall have sources of strength other than your father still provides."
The thick voice was lost in a bubbling whisper. Bayta caught only the phrase, " -the girl-" but the other, fawning voice was a nasty, low, running chuckle followed by a comradely, near-patronizing, "Dagobert, you do not age. They lie who say you are not a youth of twenty."
They laughed together, and Bayta's blood was an icy trickle. Dagobert - your highness - The old emperor had spoken of a headstrong son, and the implication of the whispers now beat dully upon her. But such things didn't happen to people in real life-
Toran's voice broke upon her in a slow, hard current of cursing.
She opened her eyes, and Toran's, which were upon her, showed open relief. He said, fiercely, "This banditry will be answered by the emperor. Release us."
It dawned upon Bayta that her wrists and ankles were fastened to wall and floor by a tight attraction field.
Thick Voice approached Toran. He was paunchy, his lower eyelids puffed darkly, and his hair was thinning out. There was a gay feather in his peaked hat, and the edging of his doublet was embroidered with silvery metal-foam.
He sneered with a heavy amusement. "The emperor? The poor, mad emperor?"
"I have his pass. No subject may hinder our freedom."
"But I am no subject, space-garbage. I am the regent and crown prince and am to be addressed as such. As for my poor silly father, it amuses him to see visitors occasionally. And we humor him. It tickles his mock-imperial fancy. But, of course, it has no other meaning."
And then he was before Bayta, and she looked up at him contemptuously. He leaned close and his breath was overpoweringly minted.
He said, "Her eyes suit well, Commason - she is even prettier with them open. I think she'll do. It will be an exotic dish for a jaded taste, eh?"
There was a futile surge upwards on Toran's part, which the crown prince ignored and Bayta felt the iciness travel outward to the skin. Ebling Mis was still out; head lolling weakly upon his chest, but, with a sensation of surprise, Bayta noted that Magnifico's eyes were open, sharply open, as though awake for many minutes. Those large brown eyes swiveled towards Bayta and stared at her out of a doughy face.
He whimpered, and nodded with his head towards the crown prince, "That one has my Visi-Sonor."
The crown prince turned sharply toward the new voice, "This is yours, monster?" He swung the instrument from his shoulder where it had hung, suspended by its green strap, unnoticed by Bayta.
He fingered it clumsily, tried to sound a chord and got nothing for his pains, "Can you play it, monster?"
Magnifico nodded once.
Toran said suddenly, "You've rifled a ship of the Foundation. If the emperor will not avenge, the Foundation will."
It was the other, Commason, who answered slowly, "What Foundation? Or is the Mule no longer the Mule?"