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“
And
what
science
is
that
?
”
the
Baron
asked
.
“
It
’
s
the
um
-
m
-
m
-
ah
-
h
science
of
ah
-
h
-
h
discontent
,
”
the
Count
said
.
The
Houses
Minor
behind
them
,
sheep
-
faced
and
responsive
,
laughed
with
just
the
right
tone
of
appreciation
,
but
the
sound
carried
a
note
of
discord
as
it
collided
with
the
sudden
blast
of
motors
that
came
to
them
when
pages
threw
open
the
outer
doors
,
revealing
the
line
of
ground
cars
,
their
guidon
pennants
whipping
in
a
breeze
.
The
Baron
raised
his
voice
to
surmount
the
sudden
noise
,
said
,
“
I
hope
you
’
ll
not
be
discontented
with
the
performance
of
my
nephew
today
,
Count
Fenring
.
”
“
I
ah
-
h
-
h
am
filled
um
-
m
-
m
only
with
a
hm
-
m
-
m
sense
of
anticipation
,
yes
,
”
the
Count
said
.
“
Always
in
the
ah
-
h
-
h
proces
verbal
,
one
um
-
m
-
m
ah
-
h
-
h
must
consider
the
ah
-
h
-
h
office
of
origin
.
”
The
Baron
did
his
sudden
stiffening
of
surprise
by
stumbling
on
the
first
step
down
from
the
exit
.
Proces
verbal
!
That
was
a
report
of
a
crime
against
the
Imperium
!
But
the
Count
chuckled
to
make
it
seem
a
joke
,
and
patted
the
Baron
’
s
arm
.
All
the
way
to
the
arena
,
though
,
the
Baron
sat
back
among
the
armored
cushions
of
his
car
,
casting
covert
glances
at
the
Count
beside
him
,
wondering
why
the
Emperor
’
s
errand
boy
had
thought
it
necessary
to
make
that
particular
kind
of
joke
in
front
of
the
Houses
Minor
.
It
was
obvious
that
Fenring
seldom
did
anything
he
felt
to
be
unnecessary
,
or
used
two
words
where
one
would
do
,
or
held
himself
to
a
single
meaning
in
a
single
phrase
.
They
were
seated
in
the
golden
box
above
the
triangular
arena
—
horns
blaring
,
the
tiers
above
and
around
them
jammed
with
a
hubbub
of
people
and
waving
pennants
—
when
the
answer
came
to
the
Baron
.
