The Universe Twister (63 page)

"Yeah." The jailer nodded. As he thrust Lafayette into the tiny cell, from which a goaty odor wafted, O'Leary hardly noticed his hand brushing the other's side, his fingers nimbly plucking something away, palming it . . .

"That's why you was climbing the ivy, sure," Percy rambled on sardonically. "It's as good of a alibi as any, punk. I bet you never even glommed nothing."

"That's what you think!" Lafayette yelled, as the door slammed. He pressed his face against the bars set in the foot-square opening in the metal slab. "I'll make a deal: you deliver my message, and I'll tell you all about it!"

"Yeah?" Percy replied, somewhat doubtfully. "How do I know you ain't lying?"

"Even if I make it up, it'll be better than a comic book," Lafayette snapped.

"Nuts," Percy said loftily. "And anyway—the whole conversation is in lousy taste, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Considering the shape her Highness is in." The jailer's lower lip thrust out. "Ain't it a crying shame?"

"Ain't what—I mean isn't what a crying shame?"

"That the Princess is laying at death's door—down wit' a fever which nobody don't know how to cure it—that's what! And Count Alain and the Lady Daphne along wit' her!"

"Did you say—at death's door?" O'Leary choked.

"Right, Bub. They say all took sick at once—a fortnight since—and they ain't expected to recover. That's how come King Lafayette had to take over."

"K-King Lafayette?"

"Sure. And the first thing he done was to beef up the guard force, which I was one o' the first hired. Where you been, anyways?"

"But . . . but . . . but . . ."

"Yeah—so don't crack wise," Percy said with dignity. "So long, hotshot. See you in death Row."

5

Lafayette sat on the heap of damp straw that was the cell's only furnishing, numbly fingering the knobs on his skull.

"Things couldn't go this wrong," he mumbled. "I must be the one who's feverish. I'm delirious, imagining all this. Actually, I'm in bed, being tended by Daphne—"

He broke off. "Hey," he said thoughtfully. "Daphne can't be sick in bed—I saw her at Central, going through rookie training, yesterday!" He jumped up, banged on the bars until Percy appeared with a napkin tucked in his collar, wiping his chin.

"You said that Countess Daphne's been sick in bed for two weeks?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"And she hasn't recovered?"

"Nope. Nor likely to, poor kid."

"How do you know? Did you see her?"

"Now I know you're loopy, Rube. I'll get a squint at her Ladyship in bed right after I get my promotion to Buck Admiral."

"Who says she's sick?"

Percy spread his thick hands. "It's what they call common knowledge. King Lafayette kept it quiet for a couple days, but then he had to let the word out, on account of everybody was getting a little uptight on account of they didn't see the Princess around and about, like." Percy took out a bone toothpick and gouged at a back tooth.

"Have you seen this King Lafayette?" O'Leary asked.

"Sure; I seen him yesterday, reviewing the guard. The poor guy looked pretty bad off, and I guess it figgers, wit' that snazzy little piece Countess Daphne about to croak, an' all—"

"What did he look like?"

"You know—kind of a skinny long-legged kid wit' a bunch o' curly brown hair and sort o' sappy smile—only he wasn't smiling yesterday. Boy, what a temper!" Percy shook his head admiringly. "The boys tell me it's the first time he ever had anybody horsewhipped, too."

"He's horsewhipping people?"

"Sure. Well, the poor slob's got a lot on his mind, like. I guess that's why he kicked the cat—"

"He kicked a cat?"

"Uh-huh. Tried to, anyways. I always heard he was a good natured bozo, but I guess having your frail croak on you is enough to kind of give anybody a little edge on. That, and the war." Percy inspected his toothpick gravely.

"What war?"

"Geez, Bub, you're really out of it, ain't you? The war wit' the Vandals, natcherly."

"You mean—Artesia's at war?"

"Naw—not yet. But any day now. See, these Vandals, they got this invasion planned, which they want to take over the country so's they can loot and rob and all. What they'll do, they'll kill off all the men, and capture all the broads—"

"Who says so?"

"Huh? King Lafayette said so—the first day after he had hisself coronated on account of the Princess being laid up—"

"When is all this supposed to happen?"

"Any day now. That's why everybody's got to turn in their cash and jewels, for the like war effort. Boy, you should of seen some o' the rich merchants howl when us boys was sent out to make some collections." Percy wagged his head. "Some o' them bums got no patriotism."

Lafayette groaned.

"Yeah, it's a heartbreaker, ain't it, pal?" Percy belched comfortably. "Well, it's about time fer my relief, Rube. Hang loose—as the executioner said to the customer just before he sprang the trap." Percy sauntered off, whistling. Lafayette tottered to a corner and sank down. Things were beginning to come into focus now. The plot was bigger and better organized than anything he'd imagined. There was an invasion, all right—but not from outside. The invader had saved a lot of time and effort by going right to the heart of things; it was a neat switch: invade the palace first, and take over the country at leisure.

"But how did he do it?" Lafayette got to his feet and paced.

"Let's say this Zorro stumbled onto some loot stashed by Goruble; Lom said the hills are full of caves full of the stuff. So—he got his hands on the Mark III, discovered what it would do. He got to the Red Bull, and planted the infernal thing on me, knowing I'd be boob enough to push the button. When I did, he hurried off to the palace and took up where I left off. Only—" He paused at a thought.

"Only he didn't fool Daphne. Good girl! She smelled a rat, went to the secret phone in Nicodaeus' old lab, and called Central. They picked her up, and she reported . . . reported . . ." Lafayette paused, scratching his chin.

"What could she report? She noticed something wrong; she knows I never kick cats. But she had no way of knowing I was really this Zorro, masquerading as me. She'd just think that somebody had hypnotized me, or something. Whatever she said, she'd have a hard time getting those bureaucrats to listen. Their policy is minimum interference. If they checked, they'd find everything apparently normal. The most they'd do would be to send an agent in to look over the situation . . ." Lafayette halted and smacked a fist into his palm.

"Of course! What an idiot I was not to have spotted it sooner! Lom! He's a Central agent! That's why he knows all those things he shouldn't know! And no wonder he was suspicious of me! I claimed to be Lafayette O'Leary—the man he was sent here to investigate! No wonder he wanted to come into the city with me! He had to keep an eye on me! Only . . . only why did he let me talk him into splitting to go off on a wild-goose chase after the Red Bull—"

Well, after all, the Red Bull was involved in this, right? Maybe he saw the chance to get filled in on the details of my story, figuring I'd be available whenever he wanted to get back to me. Or maybe—maybe he'd already become convinced of my innocence—or at least that things were more complicated than they looked—and he had to get off by himself to report back to HQ. That's probably it! He's made his report by now; he ought to show up any minute with a Central Enforcer squad to spring me, and get this whole mess straightened out!

At that moment there was a clump of boots in the passage. O'Leary struggled to his feet, blinking at the glare of a lantern.

"Whatta ya mean, lost it?" said the heavy voice of Oglethorpe. "OK, OK, I'll use mine . . ."

An iron key clattered in the lock; the door swung wide. Beyond it, beside the hulking guard, Lafayette saw a small, silver-haired figure.

"OK, OK, let's go, chum," Oglethorpe rasped.

"Lom! You finally made it!" Lafayette started forward. A large hand against his chest stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't try nothing dumb, Clyde," Oglethorpe advised him in a patient tone, and administered a shove which sent O'Leary staggering back to rebound from the far wall, just in time to collide with Lom as he was pitched through the door. The heavy gate clanged shut.

"Well, we meet again, my boy," the old fellow said apologetically.

1

"You mean," Lafayette said in a sagging voice, "you're
not
a Central agent? You weren't sent here to investigate Daphne's report? You don't have an Enforcer squad standing by to put the arm on this bogus King Lafayette?"

Lom frowned at O'Leary. "You almost sound," he said, "as if you hoped I
was
a Central agent . . ."

"You don't deny you know about Central, then?" Lafayette leaped into the breach. "I guess that's something. Look here, Lom—just who
are
you? How do you figure in all this?"

"Just the question I was about to ask you," Lom countered. "Frankly—my previous theories seem somewhat untenable in light of the present contretemps."

"What theories?"

"Not so fast, young fellow," Lom said in an entirely new tone. "I didn't say I was satisfied with your
bona fides
; far from it. As a matter of fact, it's obvious to me now that you're either innocent—a hapless victim—or more deeply involved than I'd thought. I sincerely hope you can establish that the former is the case . . ."

"Wait a minute. You sound as if I was expected to make excuses to
you
! If you're not a Central agent, then you must be in this mess up to your ears!"

"How does it happen," Lom demanded in a no-nonsense voice, "that you seem familiar with a device—the Mark III Focal Referent—which is a secret I had supposed to be known only to its inventor, and one other?"

"Easy; the Red Bull handed it to me—"

"A facile explanation, but hardly satisfying."

"I don't know why I'm alibiing in the first place," O'Leary snapped. "You're the one with some explanations to give. And don't try to snow me with that story about just happening to stumble on a cave full of just what you needed. If Central sent you here, well and good. They'd have supplied you, naturally. If not—then you must know a lot more than you're telling."

"Possibly," Lom said crisply. "Now, tell me: why were you roaming the hills in the first place?"

"What were you doing on the mountaintop?" Lafayette came back.

"Why did you come here to Artesia City? Whom were you expecting to meet?"

"How do you know about Central? Nobody in Artesia ever heard of it, but me, and Daphne!"

"What's
your
connection with Central?"

"I asked you first!"

"What's he paying you?"

"What's who paying me?"

"
Him
, that's who!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'll double his offer!"

"Talk or I'll twist that skinny neck of yours!"

"Lay a hand on me and I'll visit you with a plague of cramps!"

"Aha! Now you're a warlock!" Lafayette took a step toward the old man—and doubled up at a stab of pain under the ribs. He made a desperate grab, and yelped as his left calf knotted in a Charley horse.

"I warned you," Lom said calmly.

Lafayette made one more try, was rewarded by a stitch in his side. He lurched back against the bars.

"Now talk," Lom snapped. "I want the whole story. What was your role supposed to be? How did you happen to fall out with him? That's why you fled to the hills, eh? But why did you come back?"

"You're babbling," Lafayette gasped, clutching his ribs. "I'm Lafayette O'Leary. Somebody tricked me . . . into this Zorro routine . . . so they could take my place . . ."

"Anyone who wanted to masquerade as O'Leary would simply have disposed of his person, not set him free to confuse the issue. No, my lad, it won't do. Now talk! The truth, this time! Or I'll give you a spasm of the eyeballs, a sensation you'll not soon forget!"

"You talk as if . . . you really didn't know," Lafayette managed, between pangs resembling, he suspected, those of imminent childbirth. His fingers encountered an object in an inside pocket, felt over it. He had a sudden, vivid recollection of those same fingers—Zorro's trained fingers—darting out deftly as Percy thrust him into the cell, lifting something from Percy's belt. He drew the object out, focused watery eyes on it.

" . . . don't know," Lom was still talking. "Even if I were convinced you were a mere dupe—which I'm not—"

"How," Lafayette cut in, "would you like to escape from this cell?"

"I should like that very well indeed," Lom spat. "But don't change the subject! I—"

"Take this whammy off me . . ." O'Leary panted, "and we'll talk about it."

"Not until you've made a clean breast of it!"

"Did you notice what I'm holding in my hand?"

"No. What difference would—" Lom paused. "It . . . it appears to be a large key of some sort. It's not—it's not the key to this door—"

"It better be—or Zorro's fingers have lost their touch." Lafayette thrust the key out between the bars.

"Careful, my boy! Don't drop it! Bring it back inside, carefully!"

"Untie this knot in my duodenum!"

"I . . . I . . . very well!"

Lafayette staggered at the sudden relief of the stomach cramp. "That was a neat trick," he said. "How did you do it?"

"With this." Lom showed an artifact resembling a ball-point pen. "A simple invention of mine. It projects a sound beam of the proper frequency to induce muscular contraction. You see, I confide in you. Now . . . the key, dear boy!"

"Deal," Lafayette said. "A truce between us. We join forces until we find out what's going on."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because if you don't I'll pitch this key out of reach, and we'll both be stuck here. I won't be able to help Adoranne, maybe—but you won't be free to do her any more harm!"

"I assure you, that's the last thing I desire, lad!"

"Deal?" Lafayette persisted.

"Deal, then. But at the first false move—"