Warlock and Son by Christopher Stasheff Page B

though she was!"
    Magnus shrugged. "Today they did not like it. Tomorrow they may. I learned in the schoolroom something of the psychology of religion, my father, and the mainstay of it is this: that people do need some form of Church, and of clergy, and of service."
    "I can't really argue with that," Rod sighed. "Every time somebody tries to come up with a religion that doesn't require ministers or services, they always evolve again. Well, let's see if this town has anything to offer in the way of breakfast, son-if we still have any appetite, that is." By the time they came to the first huts, Magnus had taken the initiative in the conversation, doing his own critique of the funeral service, and had worked his way up to the sermon, his mouth a thin, grim line.
    "What manner of bishop can this clergyman think himself to be, to so berate a widower in the hour of his son's burial?"
    "I think," Rod said carefully, "that our good prelate knows exactly what kind of bishop he is." Magnus frowned down at him. "What ... ? Oh. Thou dost mean that he hath appointed himself to his episcopal chair."
    "I certainly don't think the Abbot did," Rod returned, "and I don't think he would approve at all, of this man's version of Christianity. In fact, I think His Grace would tell this alleged clergyman to shut up-if he let him stay in Holy Orders at all."
    "Thou dost assume this bishop would recognize the Abbot's authority," Magnus said, with the ghost of a smile. Rod looked up at him sharply. "You know something I don't know?"
    "Not know," Magnus hedged. "Not yet." '
    Rod frowned, and almost demanded that Magnus explain; but a bunch of dried greenery swung at his face, and he had to duck. The distraction was enough to make him remember to give the young man room to find himself. He pulled Fess to a stop and, looking up, saw that the bundle of straw that had almost hit him was hanging by a yard of twine from a pole, which was sticking out of a very roomy hut. He dismounted, tying Fess's reins to a tree. "Well, this but being a little larger than the others, and having a bush hanging out, I'd assume they're trying to pretend it's a tavern. Looks like we eat, son-something besides our own cooking."
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    "Alternatives to journey rations are ever welcome." Magnus swung down and tied his horse beside Fess. The stallion rolled its eyes toward the robot-horse, moving just a little away. Fess gave it a placid, almost disinterested look.
    "We're not fooling anybody, are we?" Rod said under his breath.
    "Only humans, Rod-but I think the equine will at least accept me as not being a threat." Fess lowered his head, pretending to graze. After a moment, Magnus's horse followed suit. Rod nodded, satisfied. "Hope we have as good a case of luck with the locals. Shall we go in, son?"
    "Wherefore not?" Magnus stood aside and gestured for Rod to precede him. Rod did, still disquieted by his son's refusal to give a direct answer-but he had been through this several times during the last few years, and wasn't about to make an issue of it. He led the way in.
    The interior was dim; light filtered through a few horn windows. There were half a dozen tables with stools about them, and a long trestle table with benches. Rod looked around at the deserted room, shrugged, and knocked on a table. A moment later, a tall man came out of the doorway at the back, wiping his hands on an apron and looking surprised. "Gentlemen! What would you?"
    "We would dine," Rod answered. "We've been on the road several days now, and have had little enough of proper food."
    "Only dried crusts with which to break our fast this morn," Magnus put in. The innkeeper glanced from the one to the other, seeming rather wary, but he forced a smile and said,
    "There is only some porridge, left from our own breakfast, and black bread-and ale, of course, though the brewing's a month old."
    "That will do quite well." Rod