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Sintk asked in a forlorn tone, "What can we do?"
"Meat for the dungeon," replied Harum. "Stay out of it."
William looked down, ashamed. If only he had the courage ... if
only he had some idea of how to fight back ... if only . . .
"Now, William," said Harum, "what the people of Balifor need
is a leader. Someone to lead a rebellion against these creatures.
You're liked and respected. People will do what you ask of them."
Harum's ugly face took on a quizzical look, and William had
the idea he was burrowing into his private thoughts. Or was he
teasing him?
"Why don't you do it?" William asked the minotaur, thinking, if
he were as big and strong as Harum, certainly he'd have little
hesitation.
"Oh, I am not a native of Port Balifor," Harum replied
nonchalantly, "and I am not sure I care so very much. And people
know I serve thieves and scoundrels at the Missionary's Downfall,
so they would suspect my motivation. Also, I am a fugitive from
my own kind, and people don't follow leaders with such flaws. But
they would stand behind someone like you, someone responsible
and upstanding. You would have their trust."
"I couldn't do it." William felt weak. He didn't want to look at
the minotaur. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the harbor.
The prisoners were being marched off the wharf by the troops
and the hobgoblin officer. The last prisoner in the coffle was the
tailor, a gray-haired, elderly man with a wrinkled face
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