The Universe Twister (65 page)

Lom was frowning thoughtfully. "That fellow said . . . that only King Lafayette knew the combination. That being the case—how did
you
open it—"

"We've been all over that, remember? You didn't believe me."

"You could have shouted whilst the men were outside. It might not have saved your life, but it would have cooked my goose. Yet—you failed to. Why?"

"Maybe I have a goose of my own."

"Hmmm. My boy, I'm inclined to give you one more chance—in spite of your having led me into this dead end. Just what did you intend to accomplish in this vacant chamber?"

"It shouldn't have been vacant," O'Leary snapped. "That lock is a special Probability Lab model, unpickable. But—somebody picked it." He frowned in deep thought. "I've noticed that there are residual traits that seem to stay with the flesh, even when the minds are switched. As Tazlo Haz, I could almost fly. And I mastered merging, with a little concentration." He looked at his hands. "And it would never have occurred to
me
to lift that key from Percy's belt—Zorro's fingers did it on their own. So—the fellow who's wearing my body must have gotten certain skills along with it—including the combination."

"Very well . . ." Lom half-lowered the gun. "Assuming I accept that rather dubious explanation: what do you propose we do now?"

"Are we partners again?"

"Of sorts. By the way, you'd better return the sonic projector."

Lom jumped as Clarence spoke at his elbow. "Hey—you guys gonna chin all day? Let's get duh secret pipes fixed and blow outa here. Duh joint gives me duh willies."

"Don't creep up on me like that!" Lom snapped. "As for you, O'Leary—or whoever you are: you've brought me here—now do something!"

Lafayette looked around the gloomy chamber. The last time he had seen it, the wall cabinets which now gaped empty had been crowded with cryptic gear. The Court Magician's workbench, once littered with alembics and retorts and arcane assemblies, was now a bare slab of stained marble. Above, where the black crackle-finish panel with its ranked dials had been, snarled wires protruded from the bare wall.

"Even the skeleton's gone," he lamented. "It was gilded. It used to hang from a wire in the middle of the room. Very atmospheric."

"Skeletons?" Lom rapped. "What sort of mumbo jumbo is this? You said this fellow Nicodaeus was an Inspector of Continua, working out of Central—"

"Right—the skeleton and the stuffed owls and the bottled eye of newt were just window dressing, in case anybody stumbled in here."

"How did
you
happen to stumble in here? No self-respecting Inspector would allow a local in his operations room."

"I wasn't a local. And he didn't exactly allow me in. I came up here to find out what he knew about Princess Adoranne's disappearance. Frankly, I was ready to slit his weasand, but he talked me out of it."

"Indeed? And how, may I ask? You seem remarkably pertinacious of erroneous theories."

"Your vocabulary gets more portentous all the time," O'Leary said. "He convinced me he was what he said he was—which is more than you've done."

"And how did he accomplish that feat?"

"He made a phone call."

"Oh? I was unaware that telephones were known in this Locus."

"They aren't. Just the one, a hot-line direct to Central. It used to be over there"—O'Leary gestured—"in a cabinet behind the door."

"This is all very nostalgic, I'm sure—but it isn't resolving the present contretemps," Lom said.

"Hey, gents," Clarence called from across the room. "What is—"

"Not now, Clarence," O'Leary said. "Look here, Lom, it's not my fault the lab's been cleaned out. And it's not doing us any good to stand here and carp about it. We still have our freedom; what are we going to do with it?"

"You were the mastermind who had everything in hand!" Lom said testily. "What do
you
propose?"

"We have to put our heads together, Lom. What do
you
think we ought to do?"

"Hey, fellas," Clarence spoke up. "What's—"

"Not now, Clarence," Lom said over his shoulder. "Frankly, it looks to me as if we have no choice in the matter. We'll have to simply confront this King Lafayette—this false King Lafayette if your tale is to be credited—and . . . and . . ."

"And what? Invite him to hang us in chains from the palace walls?"

"Blast it, if I could only get my hands on my hands . . ." Lom muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget I said it."

"You've got a thing about hands, haven't you?" O'Leary snarled. "Don't think I haven't seen you playing with your fingers when you thought I wasn't looking."

"I wasn't playing, you impertinent upstart! I was . . . oh, never mind."

"Go ahead," O'Leary said, and slumped against the wall. "You might as well snap your lid in your own way. Let's face it: we're at the end of our tether."

Lom laughed hollowly. "You know—I'm almost convinced, at last, that you're what you say you are. What a pity it's too late to do any good."

"Hey," Clarence said. "Pardon duh inneruption—but what's dis funny-looking contraption, which I found inna cupboard behind duh door?"

Lafayette looked dully toward the man. He went rigid.

"The telephone!" he yelled. "Don't drop it, Clarence!"

5

"Clarence, my lad, you're a genius," Lom chortled, hurrying forward. "Here, just hand me that—"

"Not on your life," O'Leary said, and elbowed the old man aside to grab the old-fashioned, brass-trimmed instrument from Clarence. "Anyway, I'm the only one who knows the number!" He held the receiver to his ear, jiggled the hook.

"Hello? Hello, Central—"

There was a sharp
ping!
and a hum that went on and on.

"Come on! Answer!" Lafayette enjoined.

"Central," a tinny voice said brightly in his ear. "Number, please."

"It's—let's see . . . nine, five, three . . . four, nine, oh . . . oh, two, one-one."

"That is a restricted number, sir. Kindly refer to your directory for an alternate—"

"I don't have a directory! Please! This is an emergency!"

"Well—I'll speak to my supervisor. Hold the line, please."

"What do they say?" Lom asked breathlessly.

"She's speaking to her supervisor."

"What about?"

"I don't know—"

"Here—give me that telephone!" Lom made a grab; Lafayette bumbled the instrument, bobbled it, missed as Lom plunged for it. Clarence made a brilliant save an inch from the floor as the two staggered back in an off-balance embrace.

"Uh, no'm, it ain't," Clarence was saying into the mouthpiece as Lafayette extricated himself. "Name of Clarence: K . . . L . . . A . . . R . . . I . . . N . . . T . . . S . . ." He gave O'Leary an aggrieved look as the latter snatched the phone away.

"Yes? To whom did you wish to speak, sir?" a brisk voice said.

"Inspector Nicodaeus—only I understand he's on a field job somewhere—so just give me whoever's taking his place! I have vital information to report!"

"From where are you calling, sir?"

"Artesia—but never mind that—just give me somebody who can do something about—"

"Hold the line, please."

"Wait minute! Hello! Hello?"

"What do they say?" Lom demanded.

"Nothing. I'm holding the line."

"O'Leary—if you lose that connection—"

"I know; it might be fifty years before I get through again."

"Ah, there, O'Leary?" A hearty voice came on the line. "Good to hear from you. All's now well, I take it?"

"Well? Are you kidding? It couldn't be worse! Adoranne and Alain are dying of some unknown disease, there's a phony king going around kicking cats, and I'm trapped in the tower!"

"Here, who is this? I know O'Leary's voice, and this isn't it!"

"I've been all over that! I'm temporarily a fellow named Zorro, but actually I'm O'Leary, only somebody else is me, and he's running amok, and—"

"Look here, whoever you are—unauthorized use of the Central Comm Net is an offense punishable by fine, brain-scrape, and imprisonment, or any combination thereof! Now, get off the line, and—"

"You're not listening! I'm in trouble! Artesia's in trouble! We need help!"

"I'm sure," the strange voice said icily, "that matters are now well in hand. You needn't trouble yourself further—"

"Trouble myself—are you out of your hairpiece? If those trigger-happy guards get their hands on me, it'll be the firing squad!"

"See here, fellow: just take your grievances to the agent on the scene. If you have a legitimate case, it will be looked into. Now—"

"Agent? What agent?
I'm
the Central agent here, and I've been faked out of position and—"

"The regular man, Mr. O'Leary, is incapacitated, it appears. However, a Special Field Agent was dispatched to the Locus some hours ago, with instructions to proceed direct to the palace and make contact with one Princess Adoranne. That being the case—"

"You've sent a special agent in? Here? To Artesia?"

"That's what I said," the voice snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Where is he? How will I recognize him? What—"

There was a sharp click, and the wavering hum of a dead line. Lafayette jiggled and yelled, but to no avail.

"Well? Well?" Lom was fairly dancing with impatience.

"He hung up on me. But I managed to pry some good news out of him: they've sent another agent in, probably one of their best men, with full powers. He'll have things straightened out in a hurry."

"Oh? Indeed. I see. Ha-hum."

"You don't seem overjoyed."

Lom pulled at his lower lip, frowning intently. "Actually," he said, "I'm not at all sure this is a desirable development at just this point."

"What's
that
remark supposed to mean?"

"Our antagonist, my boy, is a man of fiendish cleverness. At this moment he holds all the cards. Against him, a lone Agent hasn't a chance."

"Nonsense. I admit the fellow may not know the score—having me not be me is a bit confusing. But all I have to do is make contact with this new Agent, fill him in on a few facts, and make the pinch—"

"But that may not be so easy. Remember: I have one vital datum that you lack."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I," said Lom, "know who the villain is."

1

"You could have saved some time," Lafayette said, "if you'd mentioned this a little earlier."

"How could I? I thought you were his partner in the scheme."

"All right—who is he? Zorro?"

"Good heavens, no—"

"Not the Red Bull?"

"Nothing like that. You've never met him. The fact is, he's a renegade Commissioner of the Central Authority, by the name of Quelius."

"A commissioner? Ye gods—one of the top men—"

"Precisely. Now you can see the seriousness of his defection. I was his first victim. Then you. Now he's gobbling up an entire kingdom—and it will require a good deal more than honest intentions to topple the madman."

"All right—what's your suggestion?"

"First, we must make contact with this new chap Central's sent in, before he comes to grief. Presumably he's here in the palace by now, possibly in disguise. We'll attempt to intercept him when he calls on the princess."

"How are we going to recognize him?"

"I have," Lom said, patting his pockets, "a small ID device. When within fifty feet of a Central Authority ID card, it emits a warning buzz. Its failure to react to you was one of the principal reasons for my suspicions of you."

"Ummp. My ID is in a dresser drawer, downstairs."

"Quite. Now, at this point I suggest we divide forces. In that way, if one of us is caught the other may still get by in the confusion."

"Ummm. Shall we flip a coin?"

"I'll go first, dear boy. Now—what is the most direct route to the royal apartments?"

Lafayette told him. "Be careful," he finished. "There'll be guards six deep around the whole wing."

"Never fear, I shall make judicious use of the sonic projector. And I suppose you may as well have the disaster gun. But I'd suggest using it only in emergency. It's never been tested, you know."

"Thanks a lot." O'Leary accepted the weapon gingerly.

"Well—no point in waiting, I suppose. You follow in, oh, ten minutes, eh?" Lom moved to the door.

"Wait a minute," Lafayette said. "You've got your buzzer to identify the agent—but what do
I
use?"

"I should think any stranger might be a likely prospect. Ta-ta, my lad. I'll see you in court." The old fellow opened the door and slipped out. Lafayette listened. Two minutes passed with no audible alarm.

"So far so good," Lafayette murmured. "Now it's my turn."

Clarence was sound asleep, sitting in a corner with his head tilted on one shoulder. He opened his eyes, blinking in a bewildered way when Lafayette tapped him on the knee.

"I'm going now, Clarence. You can go back to the squad room. If anybody asks, tell them we went home. And thanks a lot."

"Geez," Clarence said, rubbing his eyes. He yawned prodigiously. "I wanna stay on duh job, boss. Dis cloak and dagger game is loads o' fun."

"Sure—but we need you back with the troops—someone who knows the score in case things go wrong."

"Yeah! Wow! Duh fellers won't never know I'm on a secret lay, which I'm woiking as usual wit' every appearance o' normality, an' all."

"That's the idea—" Lafayette jumped fourteen inches as a sharp ring sounded from the cabinet beside the door.

"Hey—dat sounds like duh doorbell," Clarence said. "OK if I answer it, boss?"

"It's the phone," O'Leary said, and grabbed it up. "Hello?"

"Oh, is that you?" It was the same voice he had last spoken to. "I say, look here, it appears something has come up; a Very Important Person wishes a word with you. Just hang on."

There was an electrical chatter, and a new voice spoke:

"Hello? This is Inspector Nicodaeus. To whom as I speaking, please?"

"Nicodaeus! Am I glad to hear from you! When did you get back?"

"Kindly identify yourself!"