The Universe Twister (66 page)

"Identify myself? Oh, you mean because of the voice. Don't let that bother you—it's Lafayette. Just think of me as a little hoarse—"

"A little
what
? Look here, they told me there was a chap claiming to be O'Leary in another form, but nothing was said about
this
!"

"My voice," O'Leary said, striving for calm. "Not me. Listen, Nicodaeus—there's a serious emergency here in Artesia—"

"One moment," interrupted the voice on the line. "Tell me: what were the first words you ever said to me—assuming you are, as you claim, Sir Lafayette?"

"Look, is this necessary—"

"It is," Nicodaeus said in a tone of finality.

"Well—ah—I think you asked me where I was from, and I told you."

"Eh? Hmmm. Maybe you're right. I was thinking—but never mind. Now then: what was the object I showed you which first aroused your suspicions that I might be more than a mere Court magician?"

"Let's see. A . . . a Ronson lighter?"

"By Jove, I believe you're right! Is that really you, Lafayette?"

"Of course! Let's stop wasting time! How soon can you have a couple of platoons of Special Fields Agents in here to arrest this imposter who's rampaging around kicking cats and sleeping in my bed?"

"That's what I'm calling about, Lafayette. When I heard someone representing himself as you had been here at Central, I immediately looked into the situation—and what I've turned up isn't good—"

"I already knew that! The question is—"

"The question is more complicated than you know, Lafayette. Have you ever heard of a man named Quelius?"

"Quelius? Commissioner Quelius?"

"The same. Well, it seems that Quelius has run amok. He was Chief of Research, you know—"

"No, I didn't know—but I've already heard about him. Glad you confirmed what my friend Lom told me about him. But can't this discussion wait until after we've cleaned up this mess?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Lafayette! Quelius, it now appears, has absconded with the entire contents of the Top Cosmic Lab, including our top researcher, Jorlemagne. From bits and pieces of evidence, we've learned that he has perfected a device with which he plans to seal off the Artesia continuum from any further contact with Central—to shift the entire Locus, in effect, into a new alignment, rendering himself forever safe from apprehension—and placing Artesia forever under his domination!"

"I never heard of any such gadget! That's impossible!"

"Not at all; in fact, it's quite easy, it appears, once given the basic theory. You remember a device called a Suppressor?"

"How could I forget? If it hadn't been for that, I wouldn't be in the fix I'm in now! How about lifting it, so I can go into action?"

"I'm afraid that's already been taken out of our hands," Nicodaeus said grimly. "Phase one of Quelius' plan has already gone into effect. The first step was to erect a Suppressor barrier around the entire Locus, cutting off all physical contact. This went into action only minutes ago. Our sole link is now this telephone connection—"

"You mean—you can't send any more men in?"

"Or out. Now it's up to you, Lafayette. Somehow, you must locate this man Quelius and lay him by the heels before his second phase is activated and Artesia is cut off forever!"

"How . . . how much time have I got?"

"Not much, I fear. Minutes, perhaps; hours at best. I suggest you go into action with all haste. I needn't remind you what's at stake!"

"And there's
nothing
Central can do to help?"

"Candidly, Lafayette—if more than a single obscure Locus were involved—if there were an actual threat to Central—certain extraordinary measures
might
be taken. But as it is, only my personal, sentimental interest in Artesia caused me to attempt this call. The simplest solution for Central, you must understand, is to let the matter solve itself. No doubt that's precisely the policy on which Quelius is counting for immunity. Well, perhaps we'll surprise him."

"Me—single-handed—plus one Field Agent you're apparently ready to abandon? What can we do?"

"I'm afraid that's up to you, Lafayette," Nicodaeus said, his voice fainter now as the crackling on the line increased. "I have great confidence in you, you know."

"What does this Quelius look like?" Lafayette shouted.

"He's an elderly man—about five three—bald as an egg."

"Did you say five three, elderly—and bald as an egg?"

"Correct. Not very formidable in appearance, but a deadly antagonist—"

"With a squeaky voice?"

"Why—yes! Have you seen him?"

"Oh, yes, I've seen him," Lafayette said, and uttered a hollow laugh. "I got him into the palace, past the guards, hid him until they were gone, gave him explicit directions for reaching Adoranne's apartment, patted him on the head, and sent him on his way . . ."

" . . . fayette—what's that . . . hear you . . . fading . . ." The static rose to drown the faint voice.

"Chee, boss, what's duh matter?" Clarence inquired as O'Leary hung up the phone. "Youse are as white as a tombstone!"

"Under the circumstances, that's an apt simile." Lafayette chewed his lower lip, thinking hard. Lom—or Quelius—at least hadn't lied when he named the villain of the piece—had used him like a paper towel. He'd gotten himself thrown in the same dungeon, pumped him dry of information, and then removed himself to a place of safety, leaving a gullible O'Leary to fare forth into the waiting arms of the enemy.

"Well, I'll fool him on that point, anyway," O'Leary said aloud. "Clarence—how would you like to have a
real
undercover assignment?"

"Chee, boss! Great!"

"All right, listen carefully . . ."

2

"Wait five minutes," O'Leary completed his instructions. "Then go into action. And remember: stick to your story, no matter what—until I give you the signal."

"Got it, Chief."

"Well—so long, and good luck." Lafayette opened the double glass doors that led onto the small balcony, stepped out into a drizzling rain under a sky the color of aged pewter.

"Splendid," he commented. "It fits right in with the overall picture." The iron railing was cold and slippery under his hands as he climbed over, lowered himself to find a foothold in the dense growth of vines below.

"Hey," Clarence said, leaning over to stare down at him. "A guy could like get hurt iff'n he was to fall offa dere."

"I've made this climb before," O'Leary reassured him. "In the dark. Now go back inside before you catch cold." He started down, wet leaves slapping at his face, icy water running down inside his sleeves. By the time he reached the stone coping twenty feet below, he was soaking wet. Carefully not looking down at the paved court a hundred feet beneath him, he made his way around the tower to a point above the slanting, copper-shingled roof of the residential wing. It was another fifteen-foot climb down to a point where he could plant a foot on the gable, which looked far steeper and more slippery than he had remembered.

No time now for second thoughts
, he told himself firmly, and leaped, throwing himself flat. His hands scrabbled at the wet surface; he slid down until his feet went over the edge, his shins, his knees—and stopped.

All right, heart; slow down.
The heavy copper gutter was under his belt buckle. He hitched himself sideways to a point which he estimated was approximately opposite the window to a small storeroom, then lowered himself over the edge. The window was there, directly before him, three feet away under the overhanging eave. Lafayette swung a toe at the latch securing the shutters; they sprang open, banging in the wind. A second kick, lightly administered, shattered the glass. He tapped with his boot, clearing the shards away.

"All right, O'Leary," he whispered, eyeing the dark opening. "Here's where that book you read on acrobatics will come in handy."

He swung himself forward, back, forward, back—

On the forward swing he let go, shot feetfirst through the window to slam the floor of the room rump-first.

3

"Nothing broken," O'Leary concluded after struggling to his feet and hobbling a few steps. He paused to listen to absolute silence. "No alarm. So far so good." He opened the hall door an inch; the passage was empty; not even the usual ceremonial sentries were on duty at the far end. Lafayette slipped out, moved silently along to the gilt and white door to the suite formerly occupied by a favorite courtier of Goruble's. There were no sounds from inside. He tried the latch; it opened and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

The room was obviously unused now; dust covers were draped over the furniture; the drapes were drawn, the window shuttered. Lafayette went to the far wall, tapped the oak panels, pressed at the precise point in the upper left-hand corner that Yokabump had pointed out to him, long ago. The panel swung inward with a faint squeak, and O'Leary stepped through into the musty passage.

"This is one ace Lom didn't know I was holding," he congratulated himself. "Now, if I can get to Adoranne before
he
does . . ."

It was a difficult fifteen-minute trip through the roughly mortared secret passage system, up narrow ladders, under low-clearance beams, which O'Leary located with his skull, to the black wall behind which lay the royal apartment. Lafayette listened, heard nothing. At his touch the inconspicuous latch clicked open and the panel slid smoothly aside.

Across the deep pile rug he could see the corner of Adoranne's big, canopied four-poster bed. No on was visible in the room. He stepped out—and whirled at the sudden whistle of steel clearing a sheath. A sharp point prodded his throat, and he was looking down the length of a sword blade into the square-jawed and hostile face of Count Alain.

4

"Hold it, Alain!" O'Leary said with some difficulty, owing to the angle at which his head was tilted. "I'm friendly."

"You have a curious manner of approach for one who means no ill, rascal!" Alain said. "Who are you? What would ye here?"

"I think I'd better let my identity ride for a moment; it would only complicate matters. Just think of me as a friend of Yokabump. He showered me the route here."

"Yokabump? What mare's tail's this? He lies in the palace dungeons, banished there by the madness of the usurper."

"Yes. Well, as it happens, I just escaped from the dungeon myself. Ah—would you mind putting the sword down, Alain? You'll break the skin."

"Aye—and a few bones beside! Speak, varlet! Who sent you here? What's your errand? Assassination, I doubt not!"

"Nonsense! I'm on your side, get it?"

A door across the room opened; a slim figure with golden hair and immense blue eyes appeared, clad in a flowing sky-blue gown.

"Adoranne—tell this clown to put the sword down before he gets into trouble with it," O'Leary called.

"Alain—who—"

"A would-be assassin," Alain growled.

"A friend of Yokabump; I came to help!" O'Leary countered.

"Alain—lower your blade. Let's hear what the poor man has to say."

"Well, then: speak. But at the first false move . . ." Alain stepped back and lowered the sword. O'Leary fingered his throat and let out a long breath.

"Listen," he said. "There's no time for formalities. I'm glad to see you two in good shape. The story is you're dying of a mysterious fever—"

"Aye, 'tis the lie spread by that treacher I once named as friend," Alain rumbled.

"There's a fellow on his way here—a man named Quelius, alias Lom." Lafayette described his former ally. "Have you seen him?"

Both Alain and Adoranne shook their heads.

"Good. He's the one who's at the bottom of this whole fiasco. Now, suppose you kids start by filling me in on the picture from your end?"

"Fellow, you're overfamiliar—" Alain started; but Adoranne put a hand on his arm.

"Hush," she said softly. "As you wish, friend of Yokabump. We, as you see, are held prisoner in our own apartments. His Majesty assures us that it's but a temporary measure—"

"Majesty, my left elbow!" Alain cut in. "I knew the first time I laid eyes on the miscreant no good would come of him! King Lafayette indeed! Wait 'til I lay hands on the treacher's neck!"

"As I remember, you didn't do so well the last time you two had a run-in," O'Leary observed. "Anyway, maybe you ought to make a few allowances. Maybe it's not really Lafayette O'Leary at all, who from all reports is a prince of a fellow, and—"

"Think you not I know the oil-tongued wretch who once forced his way into her Highness's good graces with his trickery, and—"

"Trickery! That was no trick, just superior personal magnetism. And killing Lod was a pretty hard thing even for you to brush off as sleight-of-hand—and how about killing the dragon? I suppose you could have done better?"

"Enough, sirrah!" Adoranne cut in. "Alain—stay to the subject."

"All right. So this blackguard, having lulled us into a false sense of security by lying low for a time, suddenly revealed his true colors. First, he came to her Highness with tales of an invading army. When, at my advice, she asked for evidence, he put us off with lies, meantime assuming what he termed emergency powers—which her Highness had not authorized. When I complained—we found ourselves one morning locked in, under guard by coarse fellows, new recruited, in the pay of O'Leary. When next we had tidings, whispered through a keyhole by a loyal housemaid, the scoundrel had in sooth declared himself to be regent!"

"All right—it's about as bad as it could be," O'Leary said. "Now, there are angles to this that I can't explain right now—you wouldn't believe me if I did—but what it boils down to is that we have to nail this fellow Quelius. He's the real power behind the throne. The imposter who's claiming to be O'Leary is working for him—"

"'Tis no imposter, but O'Leary's self!" Alain rasped.

"What makes you so sure? Did Lafayette O'Leary ever do anything before to make you doubt him? Hasn't he always been true-blue, loyal, brave, honest—"

"I never trusted the varlet," Alain said flatly. "His present demeanor but confirms my reservations."