“You’re entirely welcome,” said the Emperor, smiling cheerfully. He vanished, and a second later all the seats in the stands were empty of High-born.
Jim visualized his own quarters and was instantly back in them. Thoughtfully, he began to remove his costume. He was struggling out of the tight jacket when he suddenly felt himself assisted from behind, and looking around, saw Ro helping him.
“Thank you,” he said, and smiled over his shoulder at her as the jacket came off. She went on helping him, her eyes fixed on the floor; but a dark flush stained her downcast features.
“I still think it’s terrible!” she muttered to the floor. “But I didn’t realize—” Suddenly she lifted her face to him, paling again. “I really didn’t realize, Jim. That animal was trying to kill you.”
“Yes,” said Jim, feeling once more the secret, internal touch of shame that came to him whenever he remembered how his bullfighting was rigged, rather than honest. “That’s the way it is.”
“Anyway,” said Ro in very nearly a grim tone of voice, “if we’re lucky, you won’t ever have to do it again. It’s a stroke of luck, to start off with, the Emperor being interested in you. And—guess what?”
She stopped assisting him, and he stood there, half-undressed, staring quizzically down at her.
“What?” he asked.
“I’ve found a sponsor for you!” she burst out excitedly. “Slothiel! He liked you when you didn’t flinch—that first time he saw you. And he’s willing to have you numbered among his acquaintances. Do you know what that means?”
She stopped and waited for his answer. He shook his head. What she was talking about now was something she had not gone into aboard the ship.
“It means you’re not really in the servant class from now on!” she burst out. “I’d hoped to get someone to sponsor you—but not this soon. And I didn’t want to raise your hopes by mentioning it. But Slothiel actually came to me!”
“He did?” Jim frowned internally, although he was careful to keep his physical brow smooth for Ro’s benefit. He wondered if Slothiel had anything to do with Afuan’s visit to him earlier—or what Galyan had said to him aboard the ship. He found himself on the verge of asking Ro this, and then he changed his mind. Afuan’s visit, and the reaction she had tried to provoke in him, he found, was not something he wanted to tell Ro about—at least, not just yet.
He came out of his thoughts abruptly, to realize that Ro was still busily undressing him, with no apparent self-consciousness about the matter. He had no great self-consciousness about it himself. But Ro’s attitude struck him just then as being a little too zealously proprietary, like that of an owner lovingly grooming a pet horse or dog for show purposes. Besides, Jim had needed assistance, not complete care and handling.
“That’s fine,” he said, moving out of her grasp. “I can handle the rest of it myself.”
He picked up his Black Watch kilt from the hassock on which he had dropped it when he had hastily started to dress for the bullring. He put it on, together with a short-sleeved green shirt. Ro watched him with fond pride.
“Tell me more about this sponsorship business,” said Jim, “sponsorship for what?”
“Why,” said Ro, opening her eyes wide, “for adoption by the Throne World, of course! Don’t you remember? I told you that still, occasionally, a few rare people of unusual abilities or talents are allowed to move from one of the Colony Worlds to the Throne World and join the High-born. Though, of course, they aren’t really High-born themselves; the best they can hope for is that their great-grandchildren will become true High-born. Well, that whole process is called adoption by the Throne World. And adoption proceedings start by someone among the High-born being willing to act as sponsor to whomever wants to be adopted.”
“You’re thinking of getting me adopted as a High-born?” asked Jim, smiling a little.
“Of course not!” Ro literally hugged herself with glee. “But, once you’ve been sponsored, the adoption proceedings have been started. And you’re protected by the Emperor’s authority as a provisional High-born, until he gets around to either accepting you or refusing you. And the thing is, nobody ever gets refused, once he’s been sponsored, unless he’s done something so bad that there’s no alternative but to get him off the Throne World. Once Slothiel sponsors you, none of the High-born can do anything to you the way they can to a servant. I mean, your life’s protected. None of the High-born—not even Afuan or Galyan—can simply act against you. They have to complain about you to the Emperor.”
“I see,” said Jim thoughtfully. “Should I mention that Slothiel is going to do this when I talk to the Emperor?”
“Talk to the Emperor?” Ro stared at him and then burst out laughing. But she stopped quickly and put an apologetic hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. But the chances are you’ll spend your whole life here and never talk to the Emperor.”
“The chances are wrong, then,” said Jim, “because after the bullfight the Emperor asked me to come and see him as soon as I’d had a chance to rest a bit.”
Ro stared at him. Then slowly she shook her head.
“You don’t understand, Jim,” she said sympathetically. “He just said that. Nobody goes to see the Emperor. The only time they see him is when he has them brought to him. If you’re going to see the Emperor, you’ll suddenly find yourself brought into his presence. Until then, you just have to wait.”
Jim frowned.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “You didn’t know it, but the Emperor often says things like that. But then, something else comes up and he forgets all about it. Or else he just says it without meaning it, just because it’s something to say. Like paying a compliment.”
Jim smiled slowly, and Ro’s face paled again.
“Don’t look like that!” she said, catching hold of his arm again. “No one should look savage like that.”
“Don’t worry,” said Jim. He erased the grin. “But I’m afraid you’re wrong. I’m going to see the Emperor. Where would he be?”
“Why, in Vhotan’s office, this time of day—” She broke off suddenly, staring at him. “Jim, you mean it! Don’t you understand? You can’t go there—”
“Just show me the way,” said Jim.
“I won’t!” she said. “He’d order his Starkiens to kill you! Maybe they’d even kill you without waiting to be ordered.”
“Oh? And why would the Starkiens want to kill our wild man?” broke in Slothiel’s voice unexpectedly. They turned to discover that the tall High-born had just materialized in the room with them. Ro wheeled upon him as if he were the cause of her argument with Jim.
“After the bullfight the Emperor told Jim to rest awhile, then come and see him!” said Ro. “Now Jim wants me to tell him how to get to the Emperor! I told him I won’t do it!”
Slothiel broke out laughing.
“Go to the Emperor!” he echoed. “Well, why don’t you tell him? If you won’t, I will.”
“You!” flared Ro. “And you were the one who said you’d sponsor him!”
“True,” drawled Slothiel, “and I will—because I admire the man and because I’ll enjoy the look on Galyan’s face when he hears about it. But if—what did you say his name is—Jim is bound and determined to get himself killed before the sponsorship can be arranged, who am I to interfere with his fate?”
He looked at Jim over the head of Ro, who had pushed herself between them.
“You really want to go?” Slothiel said.
Jim smiled again, grimly.