The king, who had just discarded the shell of the Lera nut and was lifting another to his lips, flushed.
"Well now, look here," he said, with anger that scarcely rose above peevishness,
"I don't think you ought to call me that.
You forget yourself.
I'll be of age in two months, you know."
"Yes, and you're in a fine position to assume regal responsibilities.
If you spent half the time on public affairs that you do on Nyak hunting, I'd resign the regency directly with a clear conscience."
"I don't care.
That has nothing to do with the case, you know.
The fact is that even if you are the regent and my uncle, I'm still king and you're still my subject.
You oughtn't to call me a fool and you oughtn't to sit in my presence, anyway. You haven't asked my permission.
I think you ought to be careful, or I might do something about it pretty soon."
Wienis' gaze was cold.
"May I refer to you as 'your majesty'?"
"Yes."
"Very well! You are a fool, your majesty!"
His dark eyes blazed from beneath his grizzled brows and the young king sat down slowly.
For a moment, there was sardonic satisfaction in the regent's face, but it faded quickly.
His thick lips parted in a smile and one hand fell upon the king's shoulder.
"Never mind, Lepold.
I should not have spoken harshly to you.
It is difficult sometimes to behave with true propriety when the pressure of events is such as - You understand?"
But if the words were conciliatory, there was something in his eyes that had not softened.
Lepold said uncertainly,
"Yes.
Affairs of State are deuced difficult, you know."
He wondered, not without apprehension, whether he were not in for a dull siege of meaningless details on the year's trade with Smyrno and the long, wrangling dispute over the sparsely settled worlds on the Red Corridor.
Wienis was speaking again.
"My boy, I had thought to speak of this to you earlier, and perhaps I should have, but I know that your youthful spirits are impatient of the dry detail of statecraft."
Lepold nodded.
"Well, that's all right-"
His uncle broke in firmly and continued,
"However, you will come of age in two months.
Moreover, in the difficult times that are coming, you will have to take a full and active part.
You will be king henceforward, Lepold."
Again Lepold nodded, but his expression was quite blank.
"There will be war, Lepold."
"War!
But there's been truce with Smyrno-"
"Not Smyrno.
The Foundation itself."
"But, uncle, they've agreed to repair the ship.
You said-"
His voice choked off at the twist of his uncle's lip.
"Lepold" - some of the friendliness had gone -"we are to talk man to man.
There is to be war with the Foundation, whether the ship is repaired or not; all the sooner, in fact, since it is being repaired.
The Foundation is the source of power and might.
All the greatness of Anacreon; all its ships and its cities and its people and its commerce depend on the dribbles and leavings of power that the Foundation have given us grudgingly.
I remember the time - I, myself - when the cities of Anacreon were warmed by the burning of coal and oil. But never mind that; you would have no conception of it."
"It seems," suggested the king timidly, "that we ought to be grateful-"