The Universe Twister (37 page)

"Oh, a two-passenger assortment and a dozen rugs," O'Leary mumbled. "Splendid. Ready tomorrow, you say?"

"You better lay here awhile and get it together, kid," Sprawnroyal advised. "Your brains is still a little scrambled."

"No—no, I'm fine." O'Leary sat up shakily. He had been bathed, he saw, and shaved and bandaged here and there and dressed in baggy pajamas—yellow with purple dots.

"By the way," he said. "How did you . . . ah . . . know I was here about the, ah, prince's order?"

Sprawnroyal blinked at him. "Who else would be wearing one of the tight-beam signalers we made up for him?"

"Of course, how could I forget a thing like that?" O'Leary swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet. His knees wobbled but held.

"I just need a little fog to clear the exercise out of my head," he said. "I mean some head, to for the clear . . . some clead. I mean the head—"

Sprawnroyal's hand grabbed for Lafayette's elbow. "Yeah. Take it easy, Slim. How's about some hot chow, hey? Good for what ails ya."

"Chow," Lafayette creaked. "Yes, by all means."

"Come on—if you're sure you can walk O.K." The little man handed him a bathrobe, led the way along a twisting corridor apparently cut from living rock and carpeted in pale nylon, into a low-ceilinged wood-paneled room with a long bar at one side backed by huge copper-bound kegs. At tables spread with checkered cloths other small, sturdily built men sat talking volubly over large coffee mugs. Several of them waved or nodded to O'Leary's guide as he steered him across to a table beside a curtained window beyond which rain swirled and beat against the glass. A jaw-aching aroma of fresh-ground coffee and fresh-baked bread filled the air. A plump little waitress with a turned-up nose, no taller than Lafayette's middle button, bustled over and slid cups in front of them, gave O'Leary a wink, and poised a pencil over her pad.

"What'll it be, boys? Hotcakes? Steak and eggs? Strawberries and cream? Toast and jam and honey-butter?"

"Right," O'Leary said eagerly. "And a big glass of milk."

"Sounds good, Gert," Sprawnroyal said. "Me, too."

"Coming up."

Sprawnroyal rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Well, this is more like it, eh, Slim? Nothing like a snack to brighten the outlook."

"It's a distinct improvement over that." O'Leary indicated the dreary downpour outside. "There's just one little point that bothers me: where am I?"

"I don't get you, Slim. You're right here, at the Ajax Specialty Works, Melange Branch, having a midmorning snack in the Yggdrasil Room."

"Oh, in a factory. Well, that's a relief. Don't laugh, but I had the silly idea I was inside a cliff."

"Yeah, sure. But it wasn't always a cliff, understand. When the branch was first set up, it was under level ground. But there was the usual geological activity, and the plain subsided on us. But we got used to the split-level layout. And the view ain't bad."

"Geological activity?" Lafayette frowned. "You mean an earthquake?"

"Naw, just a spell of mountain-building. Happens every now and then, you know. Next time, this place may wind up under half a mile of seawater, you can't tell."

"O.K., move the elbows," Gert called, arriving with a laden tray. Lafayette managed to restrain himself until she had laid out the food; then he pitched in with a will.

"Say, Slim," Sprawnroyal said with his mouth full. "How long you been on the prince's payroll?"

"Ah . . . not long," Lafayette said, chewing. "In fact, you might say no time at all."

"Say, just between the two of us—how's the old boy's credit rating holding up?"

"His credit?" Lafayette jammed his mouth full of hotcake and made incoherent sounds.

"The Customer Service man held up a hand. "Not that we're worried, you understand," he said worriedly, "but he still owes us a bundle on the Glass Tree job."

Lafayette paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Glass Tree job?" he mused. "Where have I heard of that before?"

"Say, Slim, you're
really
out of it."

"I've got an idea, Mr. Sprawnroyal," O'Leary said. "Why don't you just pretend that I haven't the faintest idea what's been happening, and just sort of fill me in? It will speed my recovery."

"Call me Roy. Well, where to start? We first hear from his Highness a few years back, when he drops around looking for a job. That was while he was still a commoner. He's got a few ideas, you know, so we put him to work in R & D. After a couple months the boss has to let him go. He's got the biggest light bill of anybody on the staff, but no production. The next we know, he's back flashing a fat purse and with a set of specs, wants to know can we knock out a few special-order items. We fix him up, he pays off in cut gemstones, and everybody's happy. Then he promotes himself to prince, and comes up with this construction job, wants to know if we'll take the contract. The price is right, so we go along. Do him a nifty job, too: the whole thing is formed-in-place silicone, microfiber-reinforced. A plush installation, believe you me."

"Yes—but where does this Glass Tree you mentioned come in?"

"That's what the construction-crew boys started calling it; the name caught on. Looks kind of like a tree at that, with all them turrets and minarets and stuff branching off the main keep. Shines real snazzy in the sun. Only it ain't paid for," Sprawnroyal finished on a glum note.

"Does this prince have an old lady on his payroll—one who flies on a broom—I mean without a broom?"

O'Leary's host eyed him solicitously. "Maybe you better go back and lay down, Slim—"

"Listen, Roy: last night an old lady mentioned the Glass Tree—just after she tried to kill me."

"Cripes! With a gun?"

"No. She—"

"Oh, used a knife, eh?"

"No, it was a vicious bare-handed attack—"

"While you were asleep, I bet!"

"Certainly not! But—"

"You
did
say an old lady?"

"Please, Roy—I'm trying to tell you—"

"May you ought to go in for lifting, Slim, you know, weights. Get you in shape in no time, you wouldn't have to worry about no old ladies roughing you up. Now, I can make you a attractive price on our Atlas set number two-two-three, complete with a ear-link for pep talks and inspirational messages—"

"I don't need a pep talk! What I'm trying to say is, this old lady has something to do with the Lady Andragorre's disappearance!"

"Lady who?"

"Andragorre. She's my wife. I mean, she isn't
really
my wife, but—"

"Oh, I get it." Sprawnroyal winked. "You can rely on my discretion, Slim."

"That's not what I meant! She's a very beautiful girl, and she disappeared on her way to a kidnapping. I mean she was kidnapped on her way to a disappearance. Anyway, she's gone! And the old bat at the hut mentioned the Glass Tree!"

"So? Well, I guess everybody in these parts would know about it." Sprawnroyal frowned. "The only thing is, there ain't nobody
in
these parts."

"The old woman must work for this Prince Krupkin! She mistook me for someone else—she's nearsighted, I guess—and let slip that she was expecting her Ladyship to be delivered to her at her hut!"

"I don't get it. If this old dame is on the prince's payroll same as you, how come she jumps you?"

"She thought I'd double-crossed her, led Duke Rodolpho's men to her."

"Chee—you know Duke Rodolpho? His Grace fired in a inquiry some time back, wanted quotes on a Personal Aura Generator; but we couldn't get together on price."

"The point is—this Krupkin fellow must be behind the kidnapping. Only something went wrong, and Lady Andragorre was snatched out from under his nose before the old lady could take delivery."

"This Lady A is from Rodolpho's duchy, huh?" Sprawnroyal shook his head. "It don't make sense, Slim. That's a long way out of his territory for a strong-arm play."

"He lured her out of town first—she thought she was going to a rendezvous with some slicker named Lorenzo who'd insinuated himself into her good graces, not knowing the miserable sneak intended to hand her over to Krupkin." Lafayette rubbed the unbruised side of his face. "But who could have intercepted her?"

"Who indeed? It could of been anybody. The woods is full of cutpurses and footpads. Better forget it, Slim, and let's get back to business. Now, about that overdue payment—"

"Forget the most beautiful, wonderful, faithful, marvelous creature who ever wore a bikini? You don't seem to understand, Roy! At this very moment she may be in the most terrible danger—lonely, scared, maybe being tortured, or . . . or . . ."

"You said yourself she was on her way to a get-together with some guy name of Lorenzo, Slim," Sprawnroyal said in a reasonable tone, smearing jam on his third slice of golden-brown toast. "Looks like Krupkin's cut out of the pattern anyway, so why sweat it?"

"I told you, she was tricked!"

"Oh. You mean the guy told her he wanted her to look at some property, or take a test spin in a new model coach?"

"No, it was to be more of a trial honeymoon, as I understand it," O'Leary confessed. "But that's neither here nor there. Someone grabbed her, and I want to get her back!"

"How about this Lorenzo guy? You figure him for the snatch?"

"Well—I suppose he could have done it. Maybe he changed his mind at the last moment and couldn't go through with Krupkin's plan. In fact, the more I think of it, the likelier it seems. He probably abducted her from the coach as planned, and then instead of taking her to the hut, he took her . . . somewhere else."

"Nice piece of deductive reasoning, Slim. So I guess the best man won—and they live happily ever after. Well, maybe not really the best man, who knows, maybe he's scared of old ladies too; what I mean is—"

"I know what you mean!" Lafayette snapped. "Listen, Roy: I have to find her!"

"I've got to admire your loyalty to your boss, Slim—but I'm afraid he'll have to line up something else—"

"To heck with my boss! Anyway, I may as well tell you: he's not my boss."

"You mean—you quit?"

"I never worked for him. You leaped to a faulty conclusion. I'm sorry."

"Then—where'd you get his signaler?"

"If you mean this ring—" Lafayette held up the sparkling red stone. "Duke Rodolpho gave it to me."

"Huh?" Sprawnroyal grabbed O'Leary's finger and gave the gem a careful scrutiny.

"It's Krupkin's, all right." The little man lowered his voice. "On the level, Slim, what'd you do, slit his throat to get it?"

"Certainly not! I've never even seen the fellow!"

Sprawnroyal shook his head, his eyes hard on O'Leary. "It don't figure, Slim. How would the duke get the prince's ring? His Highness set a lot of store by that gimcrack—I know!"

"All
I
know is, the duke had it—and he gave it to me." Lafayette tugged at the ring, slipped it over his knuckle. "Here," he said, "you can have it back. I don't want it. I'm only interested in finding Lady Andragorre."

His host weighed the ring on his palm, looking grim.

"Slim, you're in trouble," he said; he pushed back his chair. "Come on; you and me better go see Flimbert, our security chief, trial judge, one-man jury, and enforcer. He won't like this development at all, at all. And on the way you better think up a better story than the one you told me. Otherwise, I'm afraid we'll have to invoke the full rigor of Ajax Commercial Regulations."

"What does that mean?" O'Leary snapped. "You'll cut off my credit?"

"Not quite, Slim. More like your head."

Flimbert was a round-faced, hairless gnome with half-inch-thick lenses which looked as though they were permanently set in his head. He drummed his pudgy fingers on his desktop as Sprawnroyal gave his account of O'Leary's appearance. "I checked: the ring's one of the ones we made up for Prince Krupkin, all right," he finished.

"It looks like a clear case of murder and grand larceny, compounded by unauthorized entry, false pretenses, and perjury," Flimbert piped in a voice like a peanut whistle. "Any last words, you?" He looked at O'Leary like an angry goldfish peering through its bowl.

"Last words? I haven't even had my first ones yet! All I know is I was crawling along peacefully, minding my own business, when I fell down that lift shaft of yours! And I didn't say I was from Krupkin—that was Roy's idea. And where do you get that murder charge? Talk about conclusions of the witness—"

"Prince Krupkin would never have let his personal signaler out of his sight. Ergo, you must have killed him to get it. Open and shut. By the power vested in me—"

"I told you, I got the ring from Rodolpho!"

"Equally unlikely. Krupkin wouldn't have given it to Rodolpho either—"

"But he did! Why don't you check my story, instead of railroading me!"

"Hey, Bert," Roy said, rubbing his massive chin. "I been wondering: why would Slim here come up with a story as screwy as this unless it was true? And if he was trying to pull something, how come he told me himself he wasn't from Krupkin? He could've fooled me: the guy has a fantastic grasp of the prince's affairs."

"Hey," Lafayette protested.

"It's an old trick," the security chief said. "Reverse cunning, we call it in the security game; indistinguishable from utter stupidity."

"Welcome to the club," Lafayette said. "Look, Krupkin gave the ring to Rodolpho; Rodolpho gave it to me. I came here by accident, and all I want now is to leave—"

"Impossible. You've been caught red-handed, fellow. Unauthorized possession is the worst crime on the books. You're going to spend the next three hundred years chained to a treadmill in level twelve—"

"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you," Lafayette snapped. "I won't live three hundred years."

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize you were sick. We'll just make it a life sentence then; don't feel badly if you can't go the whole route."

"That's thoughtful of you. Say, just as a sort of intellectual exercise, why don't you spend thirty seconds or so considering the possibility that Rodolpho
did
have Krupkin's ring?"

"His Grace with his Highness's ring?" Flimbert put his fingertips together and looked grave. "Well, first, it would be a gross breach of the conditions of sale. Secondly, it would be quite unlike Krupkin, who never does anything without a good reason."