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You weren't here on Gram when Duke Ridgerd of Didreksburg had his sister Sancia's second husband poisoned " They halted under the colonnade; beyond, the lower main terrace was crowded, and a medley of old love songs was wafting from the sound outlets, for the sixth or eighth time around. He looked at his watch; it was ninety seconds later than the last time he had done so.
Who will pay them, now?" "Why, the Mastership, of course," Ridgerd Schferts said. "My Management my Lord-Employer's, I mean will issue the money to pay them." "You may need a new printing-press," Lanze Degbrend said. "And an awful lot of paper." "This planet will need currency acceptable in interstellar trade," Erskyll said. Everybody looked blankly at him. He changed the subject: "Mr.
"My fiscal man's getting in touch with Ridgerd Schferts; the Elegry heirs will be paid in Adityan stellies, and the Imperial crowns will be held in the Commonwealth Bank, or, better, banked in Asgard, to give Aditya some off-planet credit. And we'll do the same with our other expenditures, and with the slave-compensation.
This was being telecast, and Omfray of Glaspyth and Ridgerd of Didreksburg would both be listening; as of now, they'd start hiring mercenaries. Maybe that would get rid of Dunnan for him. The Duke gave the two-hand sword back to his esquire.
"Nifflheim, no! This government doesn't need revenue. This government supports itself by counterfeiting. When the Mastership needs money, they just have Ridgerd Schferts print up another batch. Like everybody else." "Then the money simply isn't worth anything!" Erskyll was horrified, which was rapidly becoming his normal state. "Who cares about money, Obray," he said.
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