The Empire of Gut and Bone (10 page)

“I see.”

“I want to be on the radio.”

“That’s a beautiful dream.”

“So anyone,” said Brian, “could have come in and taken two uniforms yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone,” said Gregory.

“Yes.”

“Lambert Gwestin could have been here?”

The assistant quartermaster shrugged. “We like to play games and have fun. It lightens up the day.”

“Thank you for telling us,” said Gregory.

“You’re going to tell the Council, aren’t you?” said the assistant quartermaster. “And then I’ll be executed.”

“We won’t,” Brian rushed to reassure him. “We won’t tell anyone.”

“Why don’t people just do their jobs?” said Gregory. “Then everyone around here wouldn’t be worried about whether they were out back betting on stuffed bears or standing with their arms spread in the prison courtyard, buck naked.”

“Oh, Talbot.”

“Talbot?”

“Buck naked. He dreams of the veldt.”

“Sure,” said Gregory. “The veldt.”

He and Brian thanked the assistant quartermaster and left. They didn’t think he would have anything else very useful to tell them.

“So there were
two
uniforms stolen,” said Brian. “That proves what I was saying.”

“What were you saying?” asked Gregory.

They were sitting in the Grand Hall at a long trestle table. Courtiers sat all around them, talking and laughing. Servants brought small, parched roasts and straggly grilled vegetables on platters.

“Why would someone steal two?” Brian asked. “Because they want to leave one where Dantsig will find it. They know he’ll put it on so he can slip out of the prison. And then they can bet that someone will see Dantsig and remember him in that uniform. And that he’ll be blamed for the assassination. Meanwhile, the assassin wears the other uniform.”

“But wouldn’t he or she be recognizable?”

Brian thought about this. “I guess. Unless somehow the assassin was disguised. With a fake goatee or something.”

“A fake goatee?” Gregory raised an eyebrow.

At this point, a servant arrived with two sorry-looking hamburgers on a platter. The buns were huge and there was ketchup everywhere. “Compliments of the Imperial Council,” said the servant. “The cooks have whipped up some delicacies from your homeland.”

“Thank you!” said Gregory. The servant bowed and walked away.

“All the killer needs is just enough evidence to raise strong suspicions about Dantsig,” said Brian. “They know that Dantsig won’t get a fair trial, because he’s a mannequin. No one will ever stop to ask if there was someone
else
sneaking around in a guard’s uniform yesterday at midnight.”

“How did they know Dantsig would willingly go back to the prison after breaking out?”

“Maybe they didn’t,” said Brian. “They probably thought he wouldn’t. Maybe they thought he’d escape into the desert. Then it would look even
more
like he was guilty.” Brian brought his hamburger up to his mouth. He didn’t see the glint of metal or the hint of motion twitching the bun.

“So both Lord Dainsplint and the Earl of Munderplast threatened the Regent with death last night, or talked about how he was going to die.”

“But so did Dantsig, when he was captured.”

Brian nodded, about to bite. He paused, thoughtfully. Something in the burger crawled closer to his mouth.

“Hey,” said Gregory. “There’s Gwynyfer!” He waved. “Come on over!” he called. “Sit with us!”

She smiled and waved back. She came over, slipping her purse down from her shoulder into her hand. “Hi ho.”

“Gregory and Brian,” said Gregory, pointing. “Remember?”

She laughed. “Of course I remember. You’re celebrities.”

“We’re humble, though. Movingly humble. Hey, great dance today.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Gwynyfer, rolling her eyes. “Too exhausting. My feet …”

Brian went to take a bite.

And his hamburger attacked.

There was meat — a small disc of meat — but also
a kind of a spinning top with blades — a tiny metal octopus — flailing at his lips, trying to hack at his face.

He screamed and flung the burger.

It hit the floor, and the razor puck skittered toward him.

He raised a leg. The puck hacked at the other. It began to crawl up his pants, slicing.

He screamed. The blades dug deep.

Gwynyfer made a guttural grunt of disgust and whacked at the device with a ladle. The iron octopus tumbled. Landed on the ground. Slid. Skittered back toward Brian, slicing at the air.

Brian leaped up onto the bench.

People were screaming all around.

The thing bobbed and tried to jump to attack.

Brian wobbled where he stood. His leg was bleeding through his pants.

He fell heavily. He had the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t breathe. He struggled to move his arms. He fought to regain his breath.

The thing was all over him, running toward his face, his head, his ears, his eyes, his screaming mouth.

And then someone kicked it off his chest — stepped on it.

The servant who’d served the burger. He ground the deadly toy with his heel until bladed tentacles and springs popped free. Its engines squealed. The servant kept squashing.

Finally, it was still.

The servant reached his hand down to help Brian up.

“The staff extends its apologies, sir,” he said.

“What … what was that?”

“It was not on the menu, sir. I have no idea.”

Brian couldn’t stand on the one leg. It was red with slashes. He held it suspended.

“Thank you,” he said. “You saved me.”

The servant nodded. “At your service, sir.” He bowed.

Brian sat heavily. “Thanks,” he said again. “I’m Brian.”

“I’m Mr. Gwestin,” the servant said. “Lambert Gwestin.”

L
ambert Gwestin,” said Brian. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I express the deepest regret that I wasn’t available when you sought me, sir,” said Mr. Gwestin. “I was at a mourning barbecue down in the city.”

The courtiers in the room were aghast. Many had risen in horror as the gadget attacked. They were whispering in small groups, expressing sympathy for the Earth child. Gugs was expressing his disappointment that he hadn’t known about the attempt to assassinate the child beforehand, since by all rights, someone should have taken bets as to whether the little machine or the boy would survive.

Lambert Gwestin ordered one of the other servants to fetch Brian water.

Gregory said to him, “We have about a thousand questions for you.”

“I will be most delighted to prove of service, sir, once your friend has been fully revived.”

Brian took a deep gulp of water. He sat himself carefully on the bench. With the toe of his sneaker, he prodded the wreckage of the little infernal device.

Gwynyfer said, “You’re bleeding badly.”

“I know,” said Brian.

“All over the floor.” She made a face. She was exchanging glances with some girls across the dining hall.

Others by the long tables were sitting again. Many, however, didn’t seem to have much appetite.

Lambert Gwestin asked Brian, “Now, sir, that you have caught your breath: How may I be of use?”

“First of all,” said Brian, “who gave you these hamburgers?”

“A drone. They bring the platters up from the kitchen.”

“Did you notice anything strange about my burger?”

“No, sir. I am sorry, but I didn’t inspect them. I simply read the note from the cook and delivered them.”

Gregory said, “So we have to figure out who gave the order to the cooks.”

“I doubt, sir, if I may be so bold, that you will find any record of a request to insert a bladed engine in your food. None of our cooks would have included such an item in your dinner without question, unless it were specifically called for in the recipe. Am I right to understand that the hamburger does not, in its native land, come with a small, murderous machine?”

“No,” said Brian.

“Except when you buy a Happy Meal,” said Gregory.

Brian speculated, “Could someone have stopped the
drone on the way from the kitchen to the Grand Hall and slipped that thing into the burger then?”

Lambert Gwestin thought this over. “That would be possible, sir. The machine may have been introduced into your dinner at that point.”

“Can we check with the drones?”

“I regret that is an impossibility, sir. The drones are equipped neither with memory nor with the power of communication. Furthermore, they do not distinguish between people. Even if we could identify which drone carried the supper, it would not be able to recognize who stopped it to deliver the device.”

“So all we can say is that someone tried to kill me, and probably was between the kitchen and this room about four or five minutes ago.”

“That is correct, sir. On behalf of the palace staff, may I express my utmost mortification at the incident. It is our most ardent wish that this incident should not reflect poorly upon the generosity and magnanimity of our noble leader” — here Gwestin bowed reverently — “the Emperor, the divine Stub, may the saints protect him always; may he taper ever longer.” Gwestin folded his hands in front of him. “The oversight was ours, and it is we who should be flogged, if flogging is required.”

“Thanks,” said Gregory, “but we’ll pass on flogging. But there’s something else you can help us with.”

“Whatever way I may be of assistance, sir.”

“Yesterday,” said Brian, “you received orders to take a uniform down to the prison and —”

“Hello, chaps,” said Chigger Dainsplint, appearing at
their side. “Heard you had a bit of a row with your supper, Bri-Bri. None the worse for wear, I hope? I say, you do look a little perforated.”

“There was something in my food,” said Brian. “It cut me.”

“Well, man versus supper. I suppose the tables had to turn sometime.” Dainsplint snapped his fingers and another servant ran over. “Take young Master Thatz up to the chirurgeon. See that his leg is fixed up. And you,” he said to Lambert Gwestin, “I want to hear everything that happened.”

“Could we,” said Brian, who was being pried away from the bench, “could we ask Mr. Gwestin one more question? ”

“Certainly not. You’ve been carved up like a Christmas roast. Hobble on, Earth boy. Go see the apothecary.”

“It’s quick,” said Brian.

“Away with you.”

“I can ask the question,” said Gregory. “Mr. Gwestin, we were wondering —”

Lord Dainsplint said, “The children can speak to you later, Mr. Gwestin. For the moment, the Imperial Council will want a full report. These children have ambassadorial status in the capital, and we need to find out who is responsible for this outrage. Come, come. Walk.”

With that, Brian, Gregory, and Gwynyfer watched the servant and the lord walk off together.

Gwestin was saying, “I am most heartily sorry, my lord, and I trust that this will not reflect poorly on his
Imperial Majesty, the Stub, our hope and hero, long may he —”

Then a door slammed behind them.

“Too bad,” said Gregory. “Just when we were all getting along so well.”

The “chirurgeon,” as it turned out, was a doctor. His name was Dr. Brundish. He lived up in a wooden turret, surrounded by gadgetry and jars of leeches in different sizes and colors. He himself was a large, lumpy sort of man in goggles and a skullcap. It was a little hard to figure out his body, which seemed, beneath its robes, to have foothills and ranges leading back from his shoulders and down from his neck.

“A scrape,” he said, looking at Brian’s leg. “A scrape, a scrape. You were in a scrape. With a miserable little device.”

Gregory and Gwynyfer hung back, smirking at each other.

“The leeches,” said Dr. Brundish, “will clean the wounds.” He pulled some out of a pickling jar and applied them to Brian’s ankle. “They’ll suck out poisons.”

Brian looked away from the leg as he felt the creatures hunch along toward his cuts, seeking gore.

“Then we’ll put on some bandages and you will be right as rain.” Dr. Brundish smiled with huge, yellow teeth. “Please,” he said to Gregory, “do not play with that. It is not a toy.”

Gregory had on a stethoscope, and was snaking it toward Gwynyfer. “I can’t hear you,” he said to the doctor. And to her: “So do Norumbegans have hearts?”

“Put that down,” said the doctor.

Gregory protested, “I’m asking a scientific question.”

Gwynyfer thwacked the chest piece with her finger. Gregory jumped — she laughed.

Gregory pulled the ear tips out and put the stethoscope down on the desk. Rubbing his ears, he concluded, “Ouch. Heartless.”

“Oh?” said Gwynyfer. “Better than brainless.”

There was a knock on the door. Dr. Brundish grunted, “In,” and the door opened. Lady Munderplast, wife of the earl, stood there. She still wore her black suit, but she’d pulled her veil back and settled it around her shoulders.

When she saw who was there, she first inclined her head to Gwynyfer. “Miss Gwarnmore,” she said. “Lady Munderplast extends her greetings.”

Gwynyfer made a formal curtsy back. “The daughter of Duke Gwarnmore greets Lady Munderplast and wishes her many dawns.”

“Mr. Thatz. Mr. Stoffle. We met before dinner. I am Lady Munderplast.” To Brian, she said without any hint of compassion, pity, or interest, “I was so sorry to see you attacked just now. Impudent, impudent supper.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Brian.

“You needn’t take it personally. Better men have eaten worse.” She looked around the dark, yellowish chamber, at its syringes and devices. “I have no wish to delay you, but a word …”

The doctor rose from his stool. “Do you wish, milady, for me to absent myself from the chamber so you may speak to the little ape?”

“It is but three sentences. If you would stand outside the door, I would be gratified.”

The doctor shambled out of the room, bowing. Lady Munderplast waited by the open door, staring at Gwynyfer.

Eventually, the girl said, “The daughter of Duke Gwarnmore inquires if it is Lady Munderplast’s wish that I also should remain in the chamber for this communication, so that I may assist the noble Lady Munderplast, who is dear to my heart and a constant model for a young lady just entering the vexing labyrinth of the Court.”

Lady Munderplast fixed Gwynyfer with a glare. “Lady Munderplast thanks the daughter of Duke Gwarnmore for her solicitous care for our aged person, but we do not require that Miss Gwarnmore should stay behind and listen in. Nonetheless, we thank her for her kind offer to drink in our gossip and spew it right back out to her gaggle of knock-kneed, stick-legged debutantes.”

Gwynyfer, looking irritated, bowed and stepped out.

Lady Munderplast closed the door behind her, waited a moment, and in a move not unlike Gwynyfer’s of a few minutes before, thumped hard enough on the door-panel that the girl and the doctor, who were both listening on the other side, dimly apologized and stepped away.

Lady Munderplast faced Brian. “What I have to say is this: My husband, the earl, lied to you. He was not at home last night. I left him at the dance at around ten, when I
could no longer abide his dismal pronouncements on the calisthenics and gyrations of the young. My maids undressed me and laid me in my tube shortly thereafter. I was awakened at about one o’clock by the return of my dear spouse from locations unknown. That is roughly three hours unaccounted for. I clarify that because I have no idea whether you creatures are capable of doing sums.”

“Where do you think he went?” Brian asked.

“I do not know. It is not the first time he has lurked abroad in the night. Perhaps he wishes to frequent cheap saloons or shoot skeet in the dark. The ways of my husband are mysterious, yet dull. Never has the unknown provoked so little interest.”

Brian asked, “Do you know whether the earl was angry at what the Regent announced last night he was going to do? Going to war against the Thusser and reclaiming Norumbega? And starting a war with the Mannequin Resistance by arresting Dantsig and the rest?”

“My husband thought all of it was foolishness. But he also told me he did not know whether the Regent meant what he said in the throne room. Munderplast suspects that the Regent was simply announcing those things because he knew they’d be passed on to others unknown. Perhaps the Regent merely wished the mannequins or the Thusser to
believe
he had determined to return to Earth and seize Old Norumbega. Do you see? He spoke of warfare because he knew such a threat would reach the ears of his enemies. Both the late Regent and my husband have long presumed that there is a spy on the Imperial Council,
and, of course, most people suspect that the two of you are spies as well.”

“Us?” said Brian, shocked.

“You, indeed.”

Gregory said, “Do you think I’d be standing here, ma’am, if I had a submarine car?”

“Well, the rumor at the Court is that you are spies for the Mannequin Resistance. One simply can’t know. One would read your thoughts, but as one attempts it, one cannot penetrate particularly deeply. I wonder why. Have you thrown up some kind of impenetrable mind-shield? No, I suspect not. It is (probably) like trying to dive for pearls in a mud puddle.” She frowned. “At all events, I thought you would wish to know that Munderplast was not accounted for last night. And if my husband is involved in any skulduggery, I have no objection to you making it public. It will enliven our domestic life.”

She swung the infirmary door open.

Dr. Brundish was sitting in a chair on his landing — which he used as a waiting room — reading a Norumbegan magazine called
Glamour
(U
NHAPPY WITH
Y
OUR SKIN?
G
ET
R
ID OF
I
T
! B
ELINDY
D
RUNCHFYST
S
PILLS THE
B
EANS ON
L
IFE
, L
OVE, AND
H
ER
N
EW
I
NVISIBLE
B
EAU
! 25 P
LACES IN THE
G
LANDS
Y
OU’VE
N
EVER
B
EEN
— B
UT
N
EED TO
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o
!). Gwynyfer Gwarnmore was leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed, frowning. The doctor closed his magazine.

“Milady Munderplast has finished with her revelations?” he snarfled, bobbing his head low.

“Your Lady Munderplast,” said Lady Munderplast, “will not finish with her revelations until long after she is laid in the tomb.” She pulled her veil back over her face, nodded to Gwynyfer — who curtsied back — and strode off.

The doctor bustled back into his office, followed by Gwynyfer, who walked in with an air of gorgeous fury. Dr. Brundish closed the door behind them. “What a fine lady, Lady Munderplast,” he said. “A fine, fine figure of a woman.” He paused and looked romantically at the eaves.

It took him some time before he recalled that Brian was being sucked dry by leeches.