The Warlock's Companion

"I would not," Fess said slowly, "declare anything impossible, on Gramarye."

Rod tramped back in across the drawbridge, carefully avoiding the missing planks, crossed the courtyard, and went into the keep.

He had a pleasant surprise. He could scarcely believe it was the same room. There wasn't a speck of trash anywhere to be seen, and Gregory was just finishing dusting the last of the cobwebs out of the corners, high in the air, floating up near the ceiling. Their bedrolls were spread over mounds of pine boughs, and Cordelia was laying bowls and spoons around the edge of a picnic cloth. Magnus, Geoffrey, and Gregory were unloading bundles of logs and sticks next to the fireplace, where their mother stood over the great hearth, face lit by the flames of a small fire as she tasted something in a pot that hung from a crane. She twitched her nose, unsatisfied, put the cover back on, and pushed the cauldron back over the flames.

"Amazing! How did you manage this in only two hours?" Then Rod answered his own question. "No, of course—what's wrong with me? This is the kind of situation that does justify using magic, doesn't it?"

"Oh, nay, Papa!" Gregory said, eyes wide. "Such spirits as do slumber here, we have no wish to wake, an we can avoid it."

"Then how did you manage it?"

"With good, hard work," Gwen answered, with some asperity, "though I will own, 'twas somewhat faster to think at the trash, and make it fly itself out the window. Yet there was still a deal of sweeping and hauling to do, and thy children have labored mightily."

"As their mother has, I'm sure." Rod came and sat down by the fire. "You're going to make me feel as though I haven't done my share."

Gwen shuddered. "Nay. I think the chore thou hast done, was one none of us would have wished—though I think I should have stood by thee the while."

"It wasn't fit for you to see," Rod answered, "and Fess was company enough."

"Aye." Cordelia looked up. "He hath great experience of the surprises in castles, hath he not?"

"Not in the sense you mean, Cordelia," Fess answered. "However, as supervisor of the construction robots that built each stage of Castle d'Armand—I became somewhat conversant with the making and mending of castles."

"As well thou shouldst be, in light of all that Count Ruthven made thee do! Yet wherefore was he so churlish in his ma

Fess was silent. Rod had to explain, "It's called inbreeding, Cordelia—and since it could be construed as an insult to the family, Fess won't say anything about it."

"Not e'en an I ask him the question direct?"

"No—he'll just refer you to me. Count yourself referred," Rod turned to Fess. "Tell them what inbreeding is, would you?"

Fess rasped a sigh of white noise. "It occurs when people who are too closely related, have children, Cordelia."

"Thou dost speak of the law which saith first cousins may not wed?"

"Yes, and that second cousins should not. Oh, do not mistake me—when such a marriage occasionally occurs, it will not always result in great harm. But if first cousins marry first cousins for three or four generations, problems are likely to occur."

Cordelia asked. "Of what ma

"Anything you can think of, Cordelia." Out of the corner of his eye, Rod was aware of Gregory listening, wide-eyed. "Birth defects of all sorts. Some of them don't show up until later in life, though—anything from a person being born without a limb, or with a weak heart, to having low ability to heal. One such boy was perfectly normal in every way—until he broke his legs, and they never healed properly, and wouldn't grow along with the rest of him."

"How horrible!"

"But the problems we're thinking of in your ancestor's case, were problems of the mind."

Cordelia lifted her head as understanding came. She turned to Fess with a beatific smile. "Such as behaving like a churl?"

"Well, that, too," Fell admitted, "though in Ruthven's case, I fear another aspect of inbreeding may have become obvious."

"He's talking about a drop in intelligence," Rod explained. "Not always, mind you—but even now and then is bad enough."

Magnus spoke up. "Dost mean we are heir to all these ills?"

"Oh, you kids are safe, thanks to your mother."

"Aye, for that I married thee."

"Well, true, there was some inbreeding on your side, too," Rod said, with a glance at his collection of espers, "but you had the good sense to marry me. I mean, someone from outside the gene pool."

"Thou hadst first said it best."

"Well, thanks. Of course, you had a bit bigger pool; there were a few hundred thousand of you. But the good citizens of Maxima all stem from thirty-two-thousand-odd ancestors, and have been cheerfully marrying each other for five hundred years."

"Then all must have some aspect of this inbreeding," Cordelia inferred.

"Yes, even if it only shows up as occasional ugliness—or not so occasional, in the case of a good many of my—" Rod coughed into his fist, "—female compatriots."

"Yet surely this was not true of all the d'Armands!"

"Fortunately, it only became fully evident in Ruthven's case," Fess agreed. "Both his sons, as I have told you, reacted to his excesses by becoming much more reserved, and cultivating their artistic sensibilities—though, I must admit, neither was extraordinarily high in mental capacity."

"Not really necessary." Rod shook his head. "What counts is the goodness of the person. We don't all have to be geniuses." He noticed Gregory's eyes suddenly glazing, and knew his words were sinking in where they were needed the most.

"And their children?" Cordelia prompted.

"They were noble in every sense of the word, Cordelia," said Fess, "and most of your ancestors have deserved the honorific. Some were frighteningly bright, some were amazingly simple, and most were more intelligent than they needed to be. Your grandfather was a most excellent gentleman, a truly good human being, intelligent and sensitive, in addition to being highly responsible, and caring deeply for his wife and children. It was an honor to serve him."

"Was he truly such a paragon?" Geoffrey seemed surprised.

"He was indeed."

"Why then, 'tis no wonder that our father is so princely a man." Magnus turned to Rod with a glint in his eye. "Or was it simply that thou wast reared in a castle?"

"I wasn't."

The children stared in surprise.

Then Gregory coughed and said, "We had thought thou wast reared in the Castle d'Armand, of which we have spoken."

Rod shook his head, smiling. "Not so, kids. Your grandfather was the second son of the current Count—and I'm his second son."

"The Count's eldest son inherited the title," Fess explained, "and the castle with it."

"They were Viscounts, though." Gregory corrected, "Thou didst say so explicitly, Fess."

"Yes, Gregory, but the third Lord d'Armand so far surpassed his grandfather that he was able to be of major service to Maxima, in its relations with Terra, and was therefore created Count. Your grandfather could thus be given the rank of Viscount, and a third of the family estates."

"Then where didst thou grow, Papa?" Cordelia asked.

"We grew up in the Grange, dear—just a big house, but roomy enough for my parents, my brother, and my sister. And, of course, for me."

"Your father somewhat understates the issue," Fess advised the children. "The house had twenty-two rooms, and most of them were quite large."

"Still, 'twas not a castle." Cordelia was severely disappointed.

"Oh, it was adequate." Rod leaned back, stretching. "More than adequate, in fact—but only because Grandpa was living with us."

"Thy father?" Magnus stared. "Was he not the Viscount?"

"No, my grandfather," Rod amplified.