Throk needed no further hints. He departed the room.
Londo, dressed in a hood and cloak that concealed his familiar visage, rapped firmly on the door of Dunseny's home. It was a small, unassuming domicile, which had been deeded over to Dunseny many years earlier by Londo's father, out of recognition for his faithful service. There was a pause, and Londo knocked again. This time he heard the shuffling of feet, the slow approach by a measured tread that he recognized with as much confidence as he would recognize his own voice. The door opened and Dunseny peered out. He looked slightly bewildered at first, but then his face cleared as recognition dawned. He bowed slightly.
"Highness," he said. "In what capacity might I serve you this–"
Londo made an impatient wave.
"Do not stand on ceremony with me, Dunseny. We have known each other too long. To you, I am simply Londo, as will always be the case."
"Very well, Londo."
There was a pause, while the two men stood staring at each other, and then Londo said, "So? You leave me standing on the doorstep without being invited in? Is this how you treat your emperor?"
His gaze flickered over Londo.
"Not wearing the white. Incognito?"
"In a manner of speaking. I will not ask again to be allowed into your home... a home my family has provided you with."
"Yes, I know. Your generosity has always been unstinting." Still he did not move aside.
"Dunseny," Londo said in a level tone, "what is transpiring here? I learn, thirdhand, that you desire to leave my service? Why? And why do we stand in this manner, as if I am an unwanted salesman?"
"Because," Dunseny replied, "I have nothing to hide."
Londo blinked in confusion. He had no idea what in the world Dunseny could possibly be talking about. And then, suddenly, like a lightning flash, it came to him. Someone, somewhere, was watching. Or else Dunseny had reason to believe that might be the case. By remaining outside, keeping themselves in plain view – with, perhaps, portable listening devices or even a passable lip reader in the vicinity – no one could possibly accuse Dunseny of anything. Dunseny clearly saw the understanding that flashed across Londo's face, for he nodded ever so subtly.
Londo tried to glance around without turning his head, but he didn't spot anyone immediately. There were passersby in the street, none of whom seemed to be paying particular attention, unaware that the emperor – the personification of Centauri Prime – was standing among them. Yet spies might be anywhere around them. For that matter, there were other residences nearby, a number of them several stories high. Someone could be watching from any of those. Londo was certainly accustomed to the sensation of not being alone. With the keeper, the foul, one-eyed creature, forever bonded to him, Londo would never know solitude again. Still, this sensation of paranoia was an uncomfortable one.
"It is my desire," Londo said slowly, "that you return to my employ as my valet."
Dunseny spoke slowly and deliberately, as if the words had been meticulously rehearsed. He was an old man, yes, but he had never seemed old until that moment.
"As I told Minister Durla ... I have served for many, many years, and I feel I need rest."
"Are you ill? Is there some infirmity?"
"As I told Minister Durla ... I have served for many, many years, and I feel I need rest." He [..MISSED PART..] I told–"
"Minister Durla, yes, yes, I know! You have made that abundantly clear!"
"Londo ..." And for the first time, there was a true hint of tragedy in his voice, "I am an old man. I have done my service. Do not ask of me more than I can give."
"If you were threatened, I can..."
"Protect me? If I were threatened ... and I do not claim that I was, I speak merely hypothetically ... are you saying that you could protect me, Londo, if I had been threatened?" His eyes seemed to drill deep into Londo's soul, and they both knew the answer even though Londo did not dare say it. Dunseny smiled sadly, and spoke words that shredded Londo with their simple truth: "I am not convinced you can even protect yourself."
There it was. And the hell of it was, he was right.
"...I wish you all the luck in the world with your reign, Londo Mollari. You will have no stauncher supporter than I. But if it is all the same to you, I think it would be best if I supported you ... from a distance."
The response was little more than a husky whisper.
"Of course. It will be as you desire."
Dunseny nodded in what was clearly gratitude. Londo stepped back and allowed the door to quietly shut. In the final analysis, he had indeed been little more than a salesman, trying to sell one old man on the notion that he was someone upon whom the old man could depend. As it turned out, he was not a particularly effective salesman at that.
When the door to the emperor's inner chamber slid open, Senna was naturally expecting to see the emperor within. So she blinked in surprise when she saw one of those disturbing members of the Prime Candidates standing in front of her. For his part, he studied her as if she were some sort of microscopic bacterium. No. No, there was more to it than that. He seemed to be appraising her, and even more than that – he appeared to like what he was seeing. Not surprising: her blue gown was richly embroidered with gold brocade, and displayed her shapely figure quite well. Her high cheekbones and level gaze gave her an almost regal bearing. She found that she wanted to leap out of her skin, considering it so unclean that she had no desire to sport it any longer, and run shrieking down the corridor. Fighting to retain what protocol would consider the correct and proper approach, Senna asked, "What are you doing here? This is the emperor's private residence."
"I am Throk, his new valet."
"Where is Dunseny?" she demanded.
"Elsewhere."
She arched a most unamused eyebrow. "I can see that you are going to be a fountain of information."
"You are Senna, are you not?" he said after a moment. "Daughter of Lord Refa. The emperor plucked you off the streets and gave you a home here in the palace four or five years ago. Educated you, clothed you, fed you. He refers to you as `young lady' as if it were a title. You are, for all intents and purposes, the daughter he never had."
Sarcastically, Senna patted her hands together in appreciation.
"Quite a litany, Throk. And most unfair. You know much of me; I know nothing of you."
"I am Throk, of the Prime Candidates. Beyond that, there is nothing of much relevance."
Senna did not seem particularly inclined to accept that, however.
"Oh, I don't know about that," she said, stepping closer to him. "How you came to be the emperor's personal valet, after Dunseny tended to him so well for so long, is certainly relevant."
"You have a very regal bearing," he told her.
It was not a comment that she expected. It flustered her momentarily, and that angered her in turn, because the last thing she wanted was to be at a loss for words in his presence.
"Thank you," she said with clear resentment.
"You are welcome."
She turned, yet felt as if his stare was boring straight into the back of her head. There was something truly frightening in that gaze, she decided, something that threatened to draw her in. There was – and she thought she might have been imagining it – an incredible determination to serve his masters. And she sensed that he would be perfectly willing to go over, or through, anyone who stood in the way of his accomplishing that task. Something told her that the best way to handle Throk was to go on the offensive. Turning back, she looked straight into his eyes. Rather than stand there and be overwhelmed by that steady, unwavering gaze, she took the initiative.
"How many of are you there?" she asked.
"Just me," he said.
"I mean, how many of the Prime Candidates are there?"
"Ah. I am sorry. That information is restricted."
"'Why?"
"Because Minister Lione has restricted it."
"And why," she inquired, pushing steadily onward, "has Minister Lione restricted it?"
"Because he has," came Throk's answer.
Disturbingly, it seemed a perfectly lucid answer to him, even though Senna recognized it for the simplistic circular logic that it was. It was because it was because it was. Such a maddening mind-set could leave them there all day, going in circles.
"I do not understand," she said, making one last effort, "the need for restriction. Has he given you any reason, beyond that he simply desires to?"
"There is strength in numbers and strength in the element of surprise," he replied, startling her slightly that he was saying anything more on the subject. "To conceal the number of your troops gains you an advantage over those who would oppose you."
"But Throk," she pointed out, sounding almost hurt that such a notion would be entertained, "do you consider me an enemy?"
The fact that no answer was immediately forthcoming chilled her. For an instant he seemed like a beast of prey trying to decide whether to devour her.
"I consider you Senna. That is all."
"The lady Senna," she corrected him.
At this, Throk looked only momentarily surprised.
"I was unaware that the emperor had conferred a formal title upon you."
"Neither the emperor nor I feel compelled to discuss all matters with everyone."
"The emperor should not keep such secrets."
"I do not consider it appropriate for you, Throk, to decide what counsel the emperor should and should not keep. Furthermore," and her eyes narrowed, "considering that I cannot even get a straight answer out of you regarding the population of your little club, I do not see that you have much right to complain about such matters as secrecy."
He inclined his head slightly, and there was a mirthless smile there.
"The lady Senna is quite correct."
It was then that a familiar voice came from behind.
"Well, well ... getting acquainted, are we?"
Senna stiffened when she heard the tone in Londo's voice. There was a hint of joviality, but she instantly knew it to be false. She had been residing for too long in the palace to think otherwise. She turned to find the emperor walking toward them, and his stride was very slow and very measured. There was none of the bounce in his step that she saw when he was in a good mood.
"Yes, Highness. Apparently we are," she said. "Throk here says that he is your new valet."
There was a long pause from Londo and then, his voice sounding measurably forced, he said, "That is certainly my understanding, yes."
"And Dunseny is...?"
Londo permitted the question to hang there for a long moment, and then all he said was, "Not." Senna thought she caught, from the corner of her eye, a brief smile of satisfaction from Throk.
"I have been taking a bit of a stroll around the palace, Throk," Londo said. He walked up to the young man, arms folded, and continued, "I have not done so in quite a while, you know. I have tended to stick to several small areas in which I feel ... more comfortable. But now I am taking a good look around, and you know what I am seeing? A goodly number of Prime Candidate uniforms with – and this is the most startling part – Prime Candidates inside them. Some of them even assuming positions of moderate authority, yes." He nodded to Senna. "You have noticed this too, have you, Senna?"
Truthfully, Senna had not. Lately she had not been paying all that much attention to what went on around her. Senna was old enough that she had outgrown teachers. But the participation that women had in Centauri society was sufficiently limited that she hadn't really been allowed that much else to occupy her time. A girl her age was usually primarily interested in finding a husband and seeking social status, but such things were of no interest to Senna. So she had busied herself in continuing her studies, even though various scholars no longer sought to fill her head with knowledge. Instead she filled it herself, devouring every written word that she could get her hands on. Senna knew, in her hearts, that she was residing in a time of living history, so she felt compelled to familiarize herself as much as possible with all history that had gone before. She sought to delve into schools of thought, philosophies, all manner of things. Now she realized that this had occupied so much of her time that, over the past months, she had barely been aware of the world around her. She was also quickly realizing how unaccountably stupid such an attitude was. What good did it do her to learn of things past if she was remiss in applying her knowledge to things present. Still, one of the first rules of surviving in the present was never to let on what you did and didn't know, if you could help it. If knowledge was power, concealment of knowledge – or of the lack thereof – was more power.
"Yes, Highness. I did notice the ... proliferation of the Prime Candidates," she lied boldly.
"And what do you make of that, eh?"
"That it remains difficult to find good help."
She wasn't quite certain what prompted such a snide retort, but it appeared to delight the emperor, who laughed raucously and declared, "Well said, Senna! Well said!"
It did not, unsurprisingly, seem to amuse Throk in the slightest. Still, he was quite adept at keeping his feelings hidden. The only indication he gave that he had heard the comment at all was a slight thinning of his lips. "She is quite the wit, our young lady, is she not, Throk?"
"If you say so, Your Highness," Throk said delicately.
"How nice."
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the humor vanished from Londo's tone, and he said with a dour harshness, "It is comforting to know that, in some instances, that which I say still carries weight. You may wait for me inside, Throk. I have some private business I wish to discuss with the lady Senna."
"Highness, I..." Throk reflexively began to protest. But Londo did not tolerate it for so much as a microsecond.
"It would seem to me, Throk," he said curtly, "that you do not have much future as an aide or valet if you cannot obey as simple an order as waiting in another room. Is it too taxing an ordeal for your Prime Candidate mind?"