Second Foundation(45)

"You used to like it."

"Well, I don't any more, and it is not to happen again."

He stared at her darkly. It was a mystery to him that he tolerated her these days. She was a soft, empty-headed thing, comfortable to the touch, with a pliable affection that was a convenient facet to a hard life. Yet, even that affection was becoming wearisome. She dreamed of marriage, of being First Lady.

Ridiculous!

She was all very well when he had been an admiral only - but now as First Citizen and future conqueror, he needed more. He needed heirs who could unite his future dominions, something the Mule had never had, which was why his Empire did not survive his strange nonhuman life. He, Stettin, needed someone of the great historic families of the Foundation with whom he could fuse dynasties.

He wondered testily why he did not rid himself of Callia now. It would be no trouble. She would whine a bit- He dismissed the thought. She had her points, occasionally.

Callia was cheering up now. The influence of Graybeard was gone and her Poochie's granite face was softening now. She lifted herself in a single, fluid motion and melted toward him.

"You're not going to scold me, are you?"

"No." He patted her absently. "Now just sit quietly for a while, will you? I want to think."

"About the man from the Foundation?"

"Yes."

"Poochie?" This was a pause.

"What?"

"Poochie, the man has a little girl with him, you said. Remember? Could I see her when she comes? I never-"

"Now what do you think I want him to bring his brat with him for? Is my audience room to be a grammar school? Enough of your nonsense, Callia."

"But I'll take care of her, Poochie. You won't even have to bother with her. It's just that I hardly ever see children, and you know how I love them."

He looked at her sardonically. She never tired of this approach. She loved children; i.e. his children; i.e. his legitimate children; i.e. marriage. He laughed.

"This particular little piece," he said, "is a great girl of fourteen or fifteen. She's probably as tall as you are."

Callia looked crushed. "Well, could I, anyway? She could tell me about the Foundation? I've always wanted to go there, you know. My grandfather was a Foundation man. Won't you take me there, sometime, Poochie?"

Stettin smiled at the thought. Perhaps he would, as conqueror. The good nature that the thought supplied him with made itself felt in his words, "I will, I will. And you can see the girl and talk Foundation to her all you want. But not near me, understand."

"I won't bother you, honestly. I'll have her in my own rooms." She was happy again. It was not very often these days that she was allowed to have her way. She put her arms about his neck and after the slightest hesitation, she felt its tendons relax and the large head come softly down upon her shoulder.




Arcadia felt triumphant. How life had changed since Pelleas Anthor had stuck his silly face up against her window - and all because she had the vision and courage to do what needed to be done.

Here she was on Kalgan. She had been to the great Central Theater - the largest in the Galaxy - and seen in person some of the singing stars who were famous even in the distant Foundation. She had shopped all on her own along the Flowered Path, fashion center of the gayest world in Space. And she had made her own selections because Homir just didn't know anything about it at all. The saleswomen raised no objections at all to long, shiny dresses with those vertical sweeps that made her look so tall - and Foundation money went a long, long way. Homir had given her a ten-credit bill and when she changed it to Kalganian "Kalganids," it made a terribly thick sheaf.

She had even had her hair redone - sort of half-short in back, with two glistening curls over each temple. And it was treated so that it looked goldier than ever; it just shone.

But this, this was best of all. To be sure, the Palace of Lord Stettin wasn't as grand and lavish as the theaters, or as mysterious and historical as the old palace of the Mule - of which, so far they had only glimpsed the lonely towers in their air flight across the planet - but, imagine, a real Lord. She was rapt in the glory of it.

And not only that. She was actually face to face with his Mistress. Arcadia capitalized the word in her mind, because she knew the role such women had played in history; knew their glamour and power. In fact, she had often thought of being an all-powerful and glittering creature, herself, but somehow mistresses weren't in fashion at the Foundation just then and besides, her father probably wouldn't let her, if it came to that.

Of course, the Lady Callia didn't quite come up to Arcadia's notion of the part. For one thing, she was rather plump, and didn't look at all wicked and dangerous. just sort of faded and near-sighted. Her voice was high, too, instead of throaty, and-

Callia said, "Would you like more tea, child?"

"I'll have another cup, thank you, your grace," - or was it your highness?

Arcadia continued with a connoisseur's condescension, "Those are lovely pearls you are wearing, my lady." (On the whole, "my lady" seemed best.)

"Oh? Do you think so?" Callia seemed vaguely pleased. She removed them and let them swing milkily to and fro. "Would you like them? You can have them, if you like."

"Oh, my-You really mean-" She found them in her hand, then, repelling them mournfully, she said, "Father wouldn't like it."