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He should have realized that Madame Porvis would work havoc if her talent was as described. No mere romantic daydreamer would fashion fantasies with military secrecy in mind and security as a principle. Everything was betrayed. Everything was ruined.
It implies that my father's going to retire from Talents, Incorporated." Bors fumed. "I don't like this prediction business," he said. "It still seems to hint that we're not free agents. Tell me," he said apprehensively. "That precognition about me, it doesn't include Madame Porvis?" Gwenlyn laughed. "No. Definitely no!" Bors grunted. Then he managed to grin.
"The king's waiting for the Sylva to come back," Morgan said indignantly, "so he'll know my ship-arrival Talent went to find out if the Mekin fleet's going to Kandar, and when. He insists that if they know the fleet exists, they know where it is and will come here looking for it. But Madame Porvis couldn't have told that in her daydreaming. She didn't know what planet we're circling!
"It's most interesting," admitted Bors. "But " "Now Harms," said Morgan, "reads news-reports. He's specialized on those brought back by Gwenlyn and by you. He guesses at the news behind the news and he knows when he's hit it. He'll tell Madame Porvis the facts, she'll weave them into a fantasy and they'll spread like wildfire. Of course she can't plant new subjects in people's minds.
He didn't know there was anything better than that! A fortune-teller! But he's a Talent! He's a born charlatan, but he's an authentic Talent, and he doesn't know what that is! He thinks predictions as Madame Porvis thinks scandals! And they're just as crazy! But he is a Talent and they have to be right!" Bors said, "You're going to take Gwenlyn away from here, and fast!" Morgan paid no attention.
Gwenlyn remained, listening with interest when the conversation began, and now and then saying something of no great importance. But her presence kept Bors from feeling altogether like a fool. Madame Porvis looked at him with languishing, sentimental eyes. Harms watched him accusingly. Their questions were trivial. Bors told about the landings on Tralee and on Garen.
Other girls wouldn't look at him because they said he was madly in love with me." The arrogant man with the rings made a scornful sound. "He hated me," said Madame Porvis, ruefully, "because the gossip made him ridiculous, and it was only people picking up my daydreams!" She looked at Morgan. He nodded encouragement. "Years later," she said to Bors, "I grew romantic about an actor.
The man waved his hand, his rings glittering. "But I didn't tell you about Madame Porvis. She has the extraordinary talent of contagious fantasy. It is remarkably rare. She can daydream, and others contract her dreamings as if they were spread by germs." The fat woman bridled. She still regarded Bors with a melting gaze. Again he felt startled unease.
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