Xzu was using Alfric’s knightly heritage against him.
And Xzu had also reminded Alfric that the Bank existed for its own purposes — for the increase of its own wealth, power and influence — and that personal ambition and ego meant nothing to the Bank. If Alfric wished to rise in the Bank, then he must do what the Bank wished, regardless of how outrageous that might be.
Never before had Alfric faced that truth so clearly.
Of course, it was something he had always known. The marginalization of personal concerns is a characteristic of every large organization, and the Partnership Banks were as large as they come.
Even so, Alfric was almost stupefied to find himself being manipulated so shamelessly, tossed about like a cork on the storm-seas of politics. One day the Bank demands the release of the Wormlord. So a Danbrog must be commanded to arrange it. A little later, political concerns (What political concerns? Alfric was almost ready to kill to know!) demanded that the release of the Wormlord be delayed. So a Danbrog must arrange that, too, regardless of the difficulties and embarrassments involved.
‘Well?’ said Banker Xzu.
‘I wonder,’ said Alfric, ‘if you have the slightest idea of the enormity of what you’re asking.’
‘Enormity?’ said Xzu.
‘I have given my word to my father and all the Yudonic Knights who were gathered together with him,’ said Alfric. ‘I have allied myself to their grand adventure. I have-’
‘Yes, yes, I know all that,’ said Xzu. ‘I was bom and raised here, the same as you were.’
‘Then you know that you’re being totally unreasonable,’ said Alfric. ‘I can’t make and break my word to my father and my father’s peers just because your policies change as — as casually as the weather. ’
‘Can’t you?’ said Xzu.
The waxen composure of this banker-comptroller was making Alfric steadily more angry. He was a Danbrog. A man in his own right. Not a thing of putty to be moulded into whatever shape the Bank chose. Or was he? Once again, he was brought face to face with the uncompromising nature of the organization. If he wanted to rise in the Partnership Banks, then he would have to surrender all personal freedom. His subservience to the organization would have to be absolute.
No formal bonds of slavery had been laid upon Alfric Danbrog, but, thanks to his ambition, he was a slave regardless, bound to the Bank with ties almost as strong as those of blood. Because he wanted to rise in the organization, he had to measure his every public word (and most of his private speech) by what the Bank might think. Because of his status in the organization, he was never entirely off duty.
Alfric knew then that it was useless to strive to be a man in his own right unless he was prepared to break free from the organization. Was he? No. He was wedded to the institution because it was the institution that offered him his chance of power, of influence, of glory.
For a moment, Alfric felt something close to despair.
Then he realized this kind of thinking belonged to his past.
He was no longer a slave of the Bank, for his future was almost upon him, and his future was to be king. Once he had met Herself in combat, once he had made himself a hero, then the Bank would have to support him in his drive for the throne. And even if the Bank did not, why, the Yudonic Knights would put him on the throne regardless. The movement to enthrone Grendelson Danbrog was rapidly gathering momentum, and nothing could stop it now.
Nothing except Alfric’s death.
He might die when he went up against Herself.
Oh yes, he might die indeed.
But that was a risk he would have to run.
‘Come,’ said Xzu, ‘we have wasted enough time on this. The directive from the Bank is clear. We ask you for a seven-day delay. You are not to make any attempt to free the Wormlord from Saxo Pall. Not for seven days. Likewise, you are not to make any move against Herself. Not for seven days, and even then not without the Bank’s permission. Do you agree to these constraints upon your actions?’
Alfric did not.
But what he actually said was:
‘Naturally I am willing to do everything which is possible to further the plans of the Bank, but I scarcely see that what the Bank now demands comes under that heading. The Yudonic Knights have been stirred up. Even now, they are readying themselves for confrontation and battle. To cool their blood is something I think beyond my powers. If the Bank wishes me to undertake this thing, then the Bank must provide me with a suitable strategy, for the task is quite beyond my unaided powers.’
Alfric felt very pleased with himself.
The Bank could demand much, but surely it could not demand the impossible. And stopping the Knights was impossible, wasn’t it? Surely.
Banker Xzu smiled.
‘Alfric,’ said Xzu, ‘I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to co-operate. Naturally the Bank doesn’t expect you to undertake this difficult task unaided. Our best minds have gone to work on the problem, deciding how best we can help you arrange a seven-day delay.’
‘And?’
‘We have prepared a messenger for you. Our best hypnotists have been working on the man, and he is perfect. He is a peasant by name of Norton Brick. You will take him to an inn which you are in the habit of frequenting. The Green Cricket, that’s the one. You will buy this Norton Brick a drink or two. Then, at an appropriate moment, you will say a particular trigger word.’
‘Which is?’ said Alfric.
‘The word is tolfrigdalakaptiko.’
Alfric knew this word. It was from the Janjuladoola tongue, and denoted a specialized dish based on seagull livers.
‘So I say the word,’ said Alfric. ‘A trigger word, I take it. This — this Brick will pour out his story. Is that right?’
‘If the hypnotists have done their job correctly,’ said Xzu. ‘And, as you know, given the right subject, they rarely fail. They judge Brick to be perfect for our purposes.’
‘So Brick tells his story,’ said Alfric. ‘What will that story be?’
‘The story,’ said Xzu, ‘will concern the death of Herself at the hands of a marauding pack of vampires.’
‘Oh, come on!’ said Alfric. ‘Nobody will believe that!’
‘Nobody has to believe it,’ said Xzu. ‘It is an excuse, that’s all. Your excuse for asking the Yudonic Knights to call off the release of the Wormlord. After all, the Knights only wish to free the Wormlord so he can march against Herself. Is that not so?’
‘You suggest,’ said Alfric, ‘that the Knights will be ready to accept such an excuse, even if they doubt its veracity. You suggest, then, that the Knights are cowards.’
‘Alfric, Alfric,’ said Xzu, with a sigh, ‘don’t be so naive. You know yourself the Knights of Wen Endex are big on boast and small on action. Trust me. Trust us. Trust the Bank. The knightly mentality yielded long ago to our analysis. A little drink, a few songs, and these people can be tempted into committing themselves to the most outrageously heroic causes. But, once the drink wears off, so too does their resolution. Take the peasant, Alfric. Get him drunk. Say the trigger word. Here his story. Then retail it to the Knights with whatever elaborations you see fit. They will happily believe Herself to be dead, at least until we tell them otherwise.’
Well.
What Xzu said had some logic to it.
The plan was at least worth trying, if Alfric really wanted a delay.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Alfric.
‘Good,’ said Xzu. ‘What was the trigger word?’
‘Tolfrigdalakaptiko,’ said Alfric. ‘I won’t forget it.’
But, once Alfric had the peasant Norton Brick in his possession, Alfric cast the trigger word from his mind. Because Alfric had made up his mind. He would not do what the Bank wanted. Whatever secret ‘political concerns’ had led the Bank to seek a delay in the Wormlord’s release, Alfric was still going to pursue his own ends.