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 cooperation 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.