He opened the door.
It was a magnificent room. The whole place had been done over in plastic
and synthetic fibers to look like something out of the Sixteenth
Century. It was as garish, and as perfect, as a Hollywood movie
set--which wasn't surprising, since two stage designers had been hired
away from color-TV spectaculars to set it up. At the far end of the
room, past the rich hangings and the flaming chandeliers, was a great
throne, and on it Her Majesty was seated. Lady Barbara reclined on the
steps at her feet.
Malone saw the expression on Her Majesty's face. He wanted to talk to
Barbara--but there wasn't time. Later, there might be. Now, he collected
his mind and drove one thought at the Queen, one single powerful
thought:
_Read me! You know by this time that I have the truth--but read deeper!_
The expression on her face changed suddenly. She was smiling a sad,
gentle little smile. Lady Barbara, who had looked up at the approach of
Sir Kenneth and his entourage, relaxed again, but her eyes remained on
Malone. "You may approach, my lords," said the Queen.
Sir Kenneth led the procession, with Sir Thomas and Sir Andrew close
behind him. O'Connor and Gamble came next, and bringing up the rear were
the four psychiatrists. They strode slowly along the red carpet that
stretched from the door to the foot of the throne. They came to a halt a
few feet from the steps leading up to the throne, and bowed in unison.
"You may explain, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said.
"Your Majesty understands the conditions?" Malone asked.
"Perfectly," said the Queen. "Proceed."
Now the expression on Barbara's face changed, to wonder and a kind of
fright. Malone didn't look at her. Instead, he turned to Dr. O'Connor.
"Dr. O'Connor, what are your plans for the telepaths who have been
brought here?" He shot the question out quickly, and O'Connor was caught
off-balance.
"Well ... ah ... we would like their co-operation in further research
which we ... ah ... plan to do into the actual mechanisms of telepathy.
Provided, of course"--he coughed gently--"provided that they become ...
ah ... accessible. Miss ... I mean, of course, Her Majesty has ...
already been a great deal of help." He gave Malone an odd look. It
seemed to say: _what's coming next?_
Malone simply gave him a nod, and a "Thank you, doctor," and turned to
Burris. He could feel Barbara's eyes on him, but he went on with his
prepared questions. "Chief," he said, "what about you? After we nail our
spy, what happens ... to Her Majesty, I mean? You don't intend to stop
giving her the homage due her, do you?"
Burris stared, openmouthed. After a second he managed to say: "Why, no,
of course not, Sir Kenneth. That is"--and he glanced over at the
psychiatrists--"if the doctors think--"
There was another hurried consultation. The four psychiatrists came out
of it with a somewhat shaky statement to the effect that treatments
which had been proven to have some therapeutic value ought not to be
discontinued, although of course there was always the chance that--
"Thank you, gentlemen," Malone said smoothly. He could see that they
were nervous, and no wonder; he could imagine how difficult it was for a
psychiatrist to talk about a patient in her presence. But they'd already
realized that it didn't make any difference; their thoughts were an open
book, anyway.