The Universe Twister (34 page)

Duke Rodolpho was sitting in a big soft-leather wing chair when Lafayette was shown in, clean and fragrant and dressed in a fresh outfit of spangled silk which almost fit.

"Sit down, Lancelot," the duke ordered with an air of forced cordiality. "Drink? Cigar?" He waved a hand, which took in a deep easy chair, a low table with a decanter and glasses, and a humidor.

"Thanks." Lafayette flopped gratefully, then yawned earcrackingly. "Sorry. I'm up past my bedtime. By the way, my name's Lafayette."

"You dined adequately?"

"As adequately as you can while six handmaidens are scrubbing your back, putting Band-Aids on your hurties, and massaging your bruises. Not that I didn't appreciate the attention."

"Excellent. Now let's not beat around the cactus bed, Lancelot. Just what is your, ah, connection with the Lady Andragorre?" The duke nipped at a hangnail, eyeing Lafayette sharply.

"My connection with the Lady Andragorre," Lafayette temporized. "Well, ah, as to that—the fact is, I'm her husband."

The duke's face went rigid. "Her husband?" His voice cracked like a snapped neck.

"Her estranged husband," O'Leary amended hurriedly. "As a matter of fact, we're practically strangers."

"I had never heard that milady had been married," Rodolpho said in a dangerous tone. He reached to pour himself a stiff jolt of brandy, tossed it back in a gulp. "Much less divorced."

"She's a charming girl," Lafayette hurried on. "Full of fun, lighthearted—"

"You may skip over the intimate revelations," Rodolpho snapped. He chewed his lip. "Perhaps this explains Captain Ritzpaugh's report that you attempted to speak to her in the street and were repulsed with a riding crop."

"He's a"—Lafayette started—"a very perceptive fellow," he finished.

"One wonders what offense you committed to earn such detestation from so high-bred a lady."

"Well, I think it all started with crackers in bed," O'Leary began, then noted the black frown spreading over the ducal features. "Crackers is her cat," he improvised hastily. "She insisted on sleeping with her. And since I'm allergic to cats—well, you can see it wasn't much of a marriage."

"You mean—you never—you didn't—"

"Right." Lafayette used his lace cuff to wipe the dew from his brow and poured out a revivifying draft for himself.

"That's well for you, Lancelot," Rodolpho said in steely tones. "Otherwise I'd be forced to order your instant execution."

"Lafayette. And let's not start that again," O'Leary said, shuddering with the strong spirits. "You had me dusted off and brought up here for a reason. Let's get on with it."

The duke started to drum his fingers on the table, halted them abruptly. "I have conceived an infatuation for the lady," he said brusquely. "Accordingly, I invited her to spend a weekend with me at my winter palace. Instead of accepting the honor with alacrity, she pleaded a previous appointment with an aged relative."

"And?"

"Perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but I imagined just the faintest hint of coolness in her manner." The duke poured himself another peg.

"Maybe you're not her type," Lafayette suggested, following suit.

"Not her type? What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, you're old enough to be her father," O'Leary pointed out.

"That's unimportant!"

"Maybe not to her. Also, if you don't mind my saying so, you don't have what I'd call exactly a jolly manner about you. Daph—I mean the Lady Andragorre's a fun-loving kid—"

"A jolly manner? How can I be jolly, burdened as I am with affairs of state, indigestion, insomnia, and an unfavorable balance of payments?" The duke grabbed the bottle and poured, belatedly filled Lafayette's glass as he held it out.

"That's just it, your Grace. All work and no play makes Rodolpho a dull fellow."

"All work and no—by gad, sir, well put!" They clicked glasses and swallowed. The duke licked his lips thoughtfully. "I see it now. What an idiot I've been! Why didn't I just go to her openly, suggest a gay afternoon of mummy-viewing at the local museum, or possibly a wild, abandoned evening of canasta? But now: all I ever offered her was state dinners and tickets to the visitors' box at the weekly meetings of the Fiduciary Council."

"That's the idea, Rodolpho." Lafayette poured this time. "You might even go all out and propose a walk in the park, or a swim at the beach, or even a picnic on the lawn. There's nothing like a few ants in the potato salad to break down the barriers. Skål."

"Of course, my boy! Why didn't it occur to me sooner?" Rodolpho splashed brandy on the table in the process of filling the glasses. "I've been a fool. A stodgy, imperceptive idiot."

"Don't blame yourself, Rudy," Lafayette said, raising his glass. "After all, you had the duchy to run."

"True. But now everything's going to be different, thanks to you, lad. I'll ply her with my favorite viands, treat her to the music I like best, overwhelm her with my preference in wines, literature, and perfume, shower her with the kind of clothes I think she ought to wear—"

"Slow down, Rudy." Lafayette wagged an admonitory finger. "How about giving some thought to the little lady's tastes?"

"Eh? How could she object to chopped chicken livers washed down with Pepsi and Mogen David while a steel band plays variations on the theme from the 'Dead March from
Saul
'?"

"While wearing a Mother Hubbard reeking of
Nuit de Gimbel
's? Hard to say, Rudy. But women are strange little beasts. You can never tell what they're thinking. Remind me to tell you about the princess I was once engaged to—"

"I'll do it now—tonight!" Rodolpho exclaimed, and banged his fist on the tray. "I'll—but hang it all, I can't! She's out of town, won't be back for a fortnight."

"She was a swell-looking girl, too," Lafayette said. "But the minute my back was turned—"

"But, blast it, what's the good in being duke if I can't have my own way?" Rodolpho looked triumphantly at Lafayette. "I'll have her brought back. A fast troop of cavalry can overtake her entourage in a couple of hours, which will just give me time to chill the Pepsi and—"

"Ah, ah, Rudy," O'Leary objected. "Cajolery, not force, remember?"

"But force is so much quicker."

"Do you want a whipped slave, sullenly doing your bidding—or a willing
petite amie
, charmed into your web by your munificence and consideration?"

"Hmmm. The slave approach is probably the more practical, now you mention it."

"Nonsense, Rudy. You want this lovely little piece of ripe fruit to drop into your hand, right? So instead of having a bunch of sweaty soldiers on lathered horses haul her back to you kicking and scratching, you need an envoy who can convey your wishes with the delicacy appropriate to so tender a mission." Lafayette hiccupped and upended the bottle over his glass.

"Egad, son, you're right, as usual." Rodolpho frowned thoughtfully. "But who among this collection of cretins and dullards who surround me can I entrust with the task?"

"You need a man of proven ability, ingenuity, and courage. Somebody who won't sell the horse and auction off the autograph on your letter as soon as he's out of sight of the castle walls. A gentleman-adventurer, resourceful, intrepid, dedicated—"

"What letter?"

"The one you're going to write, to tell her how you've been worshipping her from afar," O'Leary said. He shook the empty bottle and tossed it over his shoulder.

"A capital notion!" Rodolpho exclaimed, and banged the tray again, upsetting the glasses. "But—but what will I say?" He gnawed the outer corner of his left ring finger. "Candidly, my boy—"

"Just call me Lafayette, Rudy."

"I thought it was Lancelot," the duke said. "But never mind. Candidly, as I say, I've never been much of a one for writing flowery language—"

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Why, you suggested it."

"I didn't mean that, I meant the idea my name was Lancelot."

"Lancelot—what about it?" Rodolpho looked blank, then brightened. "Of course!" he exclaimed, expelling a scrap of fingernail from the tip of his tongue. "Just the man for it! You're ingenious, intrepid, and have a sound head on your shoulders. Do you drink?" he asked in an abruptly challenging tone.

"Not when the bottle's empty."

"Excellent. Never trust a man who can't handle his liquor. By the way, the bottle's empty." Rodolpho rose and made his way across the room, bucking powerful crosswinds, opened a cabinet, extracted a fresh fifth, and navigated back to his chair.

"Now, as I was saying: go to this person, Lancelot, pour out your heart to her, explain that it's woman's highest duty to fetch and carry for her lord and master, and that while you can offer her only the miserable life of a serf, she can draw comfort from the fact that she won't live forever."

"That's certainly a persuasive approach," Lafayette said, wrestling the cork from the bottle. "But I had a funny idea it was
you
that wanted the girl." He frowned, straining to focus his eyes. "Or am I confused?"

"By gad, Lancelot, you're right. I
am
the one who wants her." The duke shot Lafayette a hostile look. "I must say it's cheeky of you to attempt to try to come between us. The minx is mad about me, but being a trifle shy, I'm thinking of sending a trusted emissary to drag her back billing and cooing. I mean coax her back kicking and screaming."

"A capital idea," Lafayette agreed, pouring a stream of brandy between the two glasses. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Well—how about Groanwelt?"

"Positively not. No diplomatesse, if you know what I mean."

"Lancelot! I've a splendid notion. Why don't you go?"

"Not a chance, Rudy," Lafayette said. "You're just trying to distract me from my real mission."

"What mission?"

"To get you to send me after the Lady Andragorre."

"Out of the question! You presume too far!" Rodolpho grabbed the bottle and splashed brandy across the glasses.

"What about a compromise?" Lafayette suggested with a crafty look.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'll deliver your letter to the lady—in return for which you appoint me your messenger. Or is it vice versa?"

"That seems fair. Now, when you catch up with her, you're to tell her of my deep attachment, explain in detail my many sterling qualities, and in short, overwhelm her with the picture of the good fortune which has befallen her."

"Anything else?"

"Absolutely not!" Rodolpho looked sternly at a point to the right of O'Leary's ear. "I'll handle the courtship from that point on."

"All right, Rudy—I'll undertake this assignment. You did right to come to me."

"I knew I could count on you," the duke said brokenly. He rose and handed over a massive ring. "This signet will secure the cooperation of my staff." He held out his hand. "I'll never forget this, old man. You've given me new hope."

"Think nothing of it, Rudy. Now you'd better run along. I'm pooped. Got a big day tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

"Tuesday."

"Of course. And speaking of tomorrow, I may have a surprise in store for you. Don't tell anybody, but a little birdie told me a certain lady may be calling."

"Rudy! You lucky dog! Congratulations!"

"But don't bruit it about. Bad luck, you know. Well, I really must be going. Jolly evening and all that."

"Don't rush off. We were just getting started." Lafayette held up the half-full bottle and blinked at it. "Hardly touched it," he pointed out.

"I never go near alcohol," the duke said stiffly. "Rots the brain, I'm told. Good night, Lancelot." He tottered uncertainly to the door and out.

For a moment after Rodolpho had left, Lafayette stood swaying in the center of the room, which seemed to have developed a fairly rapid rotation. He made his way across to the bathroom, sluiced cold water over his face, toweled his head vigorously. In the duke's closet he found a capacious fleece-lined riding cloak. He helped himself to a handful of cigars from the ducal humidor, tucked a pair of riding gloves into his pocket, and let himself out into the corridor.

The head groom woke, knuckling his eyes as O'Leary demanded the best horse in the ducal stables. Five minutes later, reeling slightly in the saddle, O'Leary showed the ring at the gate. The guards grumbled but opened up for him. He cantered down through the dark street to the waterfront, used the ring to requisition the ducal barge, ignoring the bargeman's muttered complaints. An hour later, after a chilly crossing, with the first twinges of a hangover stabbing at his temples, he stepped ashore on the west bank of the lake. A narrow, rutted track led up from the jetty into the forest.

"Is that the way the Lady Andragorre's party went?" he inquired of the shivering boatman. "Up that cowpath?"

"Yeah—if you can call it a party, on a night like this." The man blew on his hands. "Snow'll fly before dawn, mark my words, squire."

"Swell," Lafayette said into his turned-up collar. "That's all I need to make this a perfect night." He set spurs to the horse and moved off into the blackness among the trees.

For the next two hours Lafayette followed the winding trail steadily up among the giant trees, past looming boulders and small, rushing streams which spilled down over moss-grown rock formations. The marks of wheels were visible intermittently in the dust, overlain by the hoofprints of the escort. His head throbbed. The cold wind slashed at him through his cloak. As far as evidence to the contrary indicated, he was making no progress whatever.

"It's probably a wild-duck chase," he mumbled to himself. "I've done nothing but blunder from the beginning. First, by not insisting that that chap Pratwick put me through to his supervisor. But I was so rattled I hardly knew where I was—and still don't, for that matter. Melange. Who's ever heard of it? And Port Miasma: a pesthole if there ever was one . . ."

And he'd goofed again by getting mixed up with Swinehild. Strange, her looking so much like Adoranne. Poor kid, she'd been badly enough off before he arrived. He'd only been here twelve hours or so, and already he'd broken up a home. And then being idiot enough to fall afoul of the cops; and then that supreme triumph of the blunderer's art, leaping at Daphne's—that is, Lady Andragorre's—carriage. He should have known she wouldn't know him; nobody around this insane place was what they seemed. And then all that persiflage with the duke . . .