The Universe Twister (44 page)

"You could have peace and quiet easy enough, Lafe. Just turn this rug around and head for the south. I hear there's some nice islands down that way where we could build us a grass hut and live on coconuts and fresh fish—"

"Would that I could, Swinehild. But it's not that easy. First I have to deal with Krupkin/Goruble, the skunk! I just wish I could get my hands on him right now! I'd like to see the look on his face when I tell him I know who he is and what he's up to, and—"

The rug bumped, as if hitting an updraft.

"Look out!" Swinehild cried as something white loomed directly before them. Lafayette yelled a command to the Mark XIII—too late. The carpet banked sharply to the left, struck, plowed through a drift of snow as fine as confectioner's sugar, upended, and went cartwheeling downslope in a cloud of ice crystals. Lafayette was aware of Swinehild's arms clinging to him, of the safety belt cutting into his ribs, of flying snow slashing at him like a sand blaster . . .

With a final sickening drop, the rug came to rest half-buried in loose ice. Lafayette struggled upright, saw moving lights, blurred figures, heard gruff voices, the stamp of hooves . . .

"It's
you
," a familiar voice blurted. "How—what—when—but most of all,
why?
I left you snoozing soundly in sybaritic luxury. What are you doing out here in the snow?"

O'Leary blinked away the slush from his eyelashes, gazed blearily up at the anxious visage of Goruble/Krupkin. Behind him, uniformed men stood gaping.

"Thought you'd steal a march, eh?" Lafayette said brokenly. "Well, you won't get away with it, your Former Majesty. I know you—and I know what you're planning . . ." He tugged at the rug, which had somehow wrapped itself around him, but he was bound as tightly as if by ropes.

"S-see here, my boy," Goruble stammered, waving his men back. "Can't we work something out? I mean, you have your cushy spot, why begrudge me mine? It's not easy, you know, having been a king, to revert to mere commonerhood. Why not take the charitable view? With your help, I can be back on the Artesian throne in a lightning coup, after which you'll have your pick of the spoils—or better yet, I'll give you all of Melange, to do with as you will—"

"Forget it," O'Leary said, surreptitiously striving to free an arm. "I have everything I want, back in Artesia. Why would I want to help you?"

"But here you can be absolute owner of everything—the real estate, wildlife, natural resources . . . women . . ."

"Stay in Melange? Are you crazy? I can't wait to get home. I've had nothing but misery since I got here!"

Goruble opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, looked suddenly thoughtful.

"In that case," he asked carefully, "why haven't you done something about it?"

"Well—"

"You were, as I recall, in rather difficult straits when my chaps first apprehended you. And now—well, from the mode of your arrival, it appears that you are perhaps somewhat less than master of your fate." The ex-king rubbed his chin. "You
are
Lafayette O'Leary—I saw your ring. Only
you
wear the ax and dragon. But . . . can it be, dear lad"—his voice took on a purr like a tiger about to dine—"that you have in some way lost your valuable ability to manipulate the probabilities at will? Eh?"

"Of course not. I . . . I was just wishing I could have a chat with you, and . . . and here I am."

"Yes—with a mouthful of snow and a number of new contusions that are already beginning to swell, no doubt. Very well, Sir Lafayette: before we discuss matters further, just demonstrate your puissance by, oh, summoning up a cozy little tent, say, complete with camp stove and liquor cabinet, in which we can complete our negotiation."

"Phooey," Lafayette said weakly. "I wouldn't waste my time."

"Something simpler, then: what about a small, cheery blaze in the shelter of the rocks, there . . ." Goruble waved a hand at the curtain of falling snow.

"Why bother?" O'Leary gulped. "Why don't you just surrender, and I'll put in a good word for you with Mr. Pratwick . . ."

"Admit it!" Goruble leaned close to hiss the words. "You're impotent to interfere! You're as helpless as the clod you appear to be!"

"I am not," Lafayette said desperately. "I have all kinds of resources at my disposal!"

"Then let's see you get yourself extricated from that piece of rug you seem to be ensnarled in."

Lafayette pulled, twisted, wrenched; but it was no use. He was wrapped as tightly as a caterpillar in a cocoon. Goruble laughed happily.

"Capital! Oh, capital! I've had a nervous night for nothing! I don't know how it is you happen to have stumbled on my little base of operations here, Sir Lafayette, but there's no harm done after all. In fact . . ." He sobered suddenly, nodding. "I can see that a whole new dimension might be added to my plans, so to speak. Yes, why not? With the new data this development places at my disposal, why stop with Melange? Why not move on—expand my empire to encompass a whole matched set of worlds, eh? In the meantime—where's the elusive doxy you stole from me?"

"Where you'll never find her," Lafayette said.

"Reticent eh? Well, we'll soon correct that. Oh, we'll have long talks, my lad. My liegeman, Duke Rodolpho, retains a skilled interrogator in his employ, one Groanwelt by name, who'll soon wring your secrets from you!" Goruble whirled, bawled orders; red-coated men with ice in their eyelashes leaped forward to lift Lafayette to his feet, peel the frozen rug away—

"Hey—a dame!" a man blurted as Swinehild appeared from the folds of the Mark XIII, dazed and shivering.

Goruble laughed merrily. "My luck has turned at last!" he cried. "The fates smile on my enterprise! I take this as a sign—a sign, do you hear?" He looked on, beaming as the grinning men pulled the girl to her feet, keeping a stout grip on her arms. For the moment, the carpet lay in an unattended heap. Lafayette made a sudden lunge for it, but was quickly grabbed, but with a final surge, he managed to plant a foot on the snow-covered nap.

"Go home!" He addressed the yell to the receiver's verbal input circuitry. "Top speed and no detours!"

In response the carpet flopped, sending up a spray of ice crystals, leaped six feet into the air, hung for a moment rippling, then, as one of the men made a belated grab, shot away into the gathering storm.

"'Tis enchanted, by crikey!" a man yelled, recoiling.

"Nonsense," Goruble snapped. "It's undoubtedly another gadget from Ajax. So you're working with those sharpies, eh, Sir Lafayette? But no matter: I have my plans for them, as well as the rest of this benighted land!"

"You've sprung your seams," Lafayette snapped. "Your last takeover bid flopped, and so will this one."

"Truss them and hoist them on horseback," Goruble commanded the captain of his guard. "We'll see what a night in the cold followed by a day on the rack does for this upstart's manners."

"Well, back again, hey, pal?" Rodolpho's physical-persuasion specialist greeted O'Leary cheerfully as four guards dumped him, more dead than alive, on a wooden bench near the fireplace in which half a dozen sets of tongs and pincers were glowing a cozy cherry red.

"Mnnnrrgghhh," O'Leary mumbled through stiff lips, crouching nearer the blaze. "Just give me heat, even if it's my own feet burning."

"Anything to oblige, chum. Now, lessee, where were we?" Groanwelt rubbed a hand over his bristled chin with a sound like tearing canvas. "We could start out wit' a little iron work, like you suggested, then move on to a few strokes o' the cat, just to get the old circulation going good, and wind up the session wit' a good stretch on the rack to take the kinks out. How's it sound?"

"A well-balanced program, no doubt," Lafayette mumbled. "Could you stoke up this fire a little first?"

"That's the spirit, kid. Say, on the other hand, maybe you'd like to try the new equipment I just got in since you was here: a swell hydraulic-type joint press, roller bearings throughout. A versatile outfit: handles everything from hip sockets to knuckles. But maybe we better save that and the automatic skinning machine for last; they're kind of permanent, if you know what I mean. We don't want you graduating on us before we get the dope, which the duke wants it pretty bad."

"It's not the duke, it's that sneaky little Krupkin who thinks I'm going to spill a lot of secrets," Lafayette corrected the P.P.S. "Listen, Groanwelt, as a loyal Melanger, you should be fighting Krupkin, not helping him. His scheme is to take over the whole country and use it as a base of operations to launch an attack on Artesia!"

"Politics," Groanwelt said apologetically, "was never a big hobby wit' me. I mean, administrations come and go, but the need for a skilled specialist remains constant—"

"Don't you have any patriotism?" O'Leary challenged. "This man's a maniac! He'll loot Melange of everything useful: food, weapons, raw materials—and—"

"Sure, fella. But look, OK if we get started? You can talk while I work. How's about getting the shirt off and stepping over here so's I can buckle you up in working position?"

"C-couldn't I just toast my toes for a few minutes longer?"

"Good notion. I'll help you off wit' the boots, and we'll strap the ankles up nice to hold 'em in optimum position. Too close, and you get a lot o' smoke; too far, and you don't get the full effect, like—"

"On second thought, why don't I tell you whatever you want to know right now, and save you all that effort?" O'Leary suggested hurriedly. "Where shall I start? With my arrival on top of the windmill, two weeks ago? Or was it three? Or should I go farther back, to when I had everything in the world a sane man could want, and it wasn't enough? Or—"

"Hey, hey, hold on, pal!" Groanwelt lowered his voice, looking around nervously. "What you trying to do, put me out o' business?"

"Not at all, but it just happens I'm in a talkative mood this evening—"

"It's morning. Geeze, kid, you're out o' touch."

"Yes, morning, evening, it doesn't matter, I love to talk night and day. Now, as I was saying—"

"Shhhh!" The P.P.S. laid a thick finger across his pooched-out lips. "Have a heart! You want to lose me the best post on the ducal staff? You go blowing your gaff wit'out me even laying a iron to you, and somebody's going to start getting ideas about redundant personnel. At my age, I can't take no RIF, kid. So be a sweet guy and button it up, hah?"

"I . . . I'll tell you what," Lafayette proposed, eyeing the smoking forceps in the technician's hairy fist. "You hold off with the irons for a few minutes—just until I do a few yoga exercises to heighten my appreciation of your virtuosity—and I'll try to bottle up the speech I want to make."

"Say, that's white o' you, neighbor!"

"Think nothing of it, Groanwelt. Glad to be helpful. By the way, do you have any idea what became of the young lady who arrived when I did?"

"Oh, her? Yeah. Say, cleaned up, she wouldn't be a bad-looking little piece, you know? I think I seen the boys handing her over to the housekeeper. Seems like your pal Prince Krupkin's got some kind o' special plans for her." Groanwelt winked.

"The rat," Lafayette snarled between his teeth. "Groanwelt, you seem like a decent sort of chap: are you going to sit quietly by while that unprincipled crook carries out his plans right over your head, without a word?"

The P.P.S. sighed. "Yeah, I know, the idealism o' yout'. You young guys think you can cure the world o' its ills. But as you get a little older, you find out it ain't so easy. Me, I've settled for the pride o' craftsmanship: the integrity o' the skilled technician. I give every job the best that's in me, no shoddy work to have to be ashamed of later. I mean, when people are looking at a project o' mine, I want to be able to hold my head up, right? Speaking o' which, maybe we better start in; old Rodolpho's likely to show up any minute to check on progress—"

"He just did," a cold voice spoke up. The P.P.S. whirled to see Duke Rodolpho glowering at him from the doorway.

"Geeze!" he exclaimed. "I sure wish you wouldn't come pussyfooting up on a guy that way, y'er Grace! You give me such a start, I ain't sure I can go on wit' my work." He held up his hands, studying them for tremors.

"Never mind that," Rodolpho snapped. "You're about to be honored by a visit from his Highness. Now tighten up here and try to make a good impression . . ." The duke turned as bustlings sounded from the corridor behind him.

"Ah, right this way, my dear prince," he said through a forced smile. "A modest installation, but fully equipped—"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," Krupkin cut him off, sauntering into view attended by a pair of lackeys who seemed to be trying to shine his shoes at full gallop. His sharp eyes swept the chamber, fell on Lafayette. He grunted.

"Leave us, Rudy," he ordered offhandedly. "And take these pests with you," he added, kicking at the fellow attempting to adjust the hang of his robes. "You stay," he addressed Groanwelt.

"But I haven't had a chance to show you the newly equipped forcing vats yet—" Rodolpho protested.

"You have our leave to withdraw!" Krupkin/Goruble barked. As the rest of the party hastily evacuated the room, the prince came over to O'Leary, who rose to face him. The ex-king looked him up and down, glanced at the ring on his finger. He hooked his thumbs in the broad, bejeweled belt encircling his middle and thrust out his lower lip.

"All right, Sir Lafayette," he said in a tone inaudible to the P.P.S., who hovered uncomfortably in the background, polishing an iron boot. "Last chance. Your value to me, minus your former abilities, is small, but still, your cooperation might smooth my path a trifle. I've spent the last few hours reviewing my plans, and have realized that I've been thinking too small. Conquer Melange, indeed! As you pointed out, the place is a pesthole. But new vistas have opened themselves. Your presence here shows me the way. It was your meddling that lost me my throne in Artesia. Now you'll help me recover it."

"Don't talk like a boob," O'Leary said tiredly. "After what you tried to do to Adoranne, the people would throw stones at you if you ever showed your face in Artesia, even if you could get back there, which I doubt."