The Galaxy Builder (7 page)

            "Where is everybody, Marv?" Lafayette
called, his voice shocking even himself as it broke the eerie stillness. Marv
shied and scuttled on. O'Leary called him back.

            "Over here, Marv," he ordered.
"We need to have a little talk." The former bodyguard paused and then
obediently edged toward the chair, not looking at Lafayette. He reminded
O'Leary of an oft-beaten dog with a guilty conscience.

            "Glad to see you got clear, Yer
Lordship," Marv muttered.

            "Clear of what?" O'Leary demanded.

            "Too bad me and Omar din't stay inside like
you said —but climbing them stairs was too much. Like, not only is a guy
sticking his neck out, but I and old Omar was getting pretty winded, too. So,
when we heard the bugle go, natcherly we hadda report in on the double— just in
time to watch Frodolkin's boys drag old Trog outa his fancy chair, which I
think he'd pop a gusset if he could see you setting in it now, Sir Al."

            "I'm Sir Lafayette, not 'Al', O'Leary
snapped. "What's happened here? Where's Trog?"

            "Like I was tryna say, sir—they got him.
Prolly got him hung up by the heels right now, squeezing his secrets outa him.
Onney it'll take a while, 'cause he ain't got none—secrets, I mean."

            "Who's this Frodolkin you mentioned—and
where?" O'Leary insisted. "I need to see the head man here, and if
Trog's been replaced by Frodolkin, then he's the one I have to see—and in a
hurry."

            Marv scratched at his unkempt scalp with a
fingernail like a black-rimmed banjo pick. "Lessee," he muttered,
"he might be back at camp, celebrating the big victory and all—or maybe he's
out scouting his new territory, kinda sizing up what he got here. Beats
me."

            "Listen, Marv," O'Leary said urgently,
rising and going closer to the ragged fellow, who was intent now on capturing a
flea. "Just before I showed up," O'Leary insisted, "didn't you
see a girl—a lovely young woman with dark hair, wearing a silver-lame gown and
a blue velvet cloak that's too big for her? It's my cloak, you see; I just put
it around her so she wouldn't get soaked in the rain. You must have seen her!
She was only a few seconds ahead of me."

            "Not a chanst, Al. A dame to fit that
description ain't been seen in these parts since last Saint Filbert's Day
anyways. And if she was, she'd of been grabbed by the first guy seen her. We
ain't seen nobody. Forget it, pal. It's a nice delusion, but it just won't
stand up. Why not go on down to town and find yerself one o' them nice friendly
broads hangs around Ye Gut Bucket Bar and Grill?"

            "Because Daphne's
here,
and I mean
to find her," Lafayette replied staunchly. "How many of Trog's men
can you round up in a hurry?"

            "Depends what for," Marv replied
lazily. "If it's easy and pays good, a lotta the boys'll volunteer, just
outa sheer altruism. What you got in mind, Al?"

            "For the last time," O'Leary snapped.
"I'm not Al!"

            "You come outa the Dread Tower, din't
ya?" Marv countered.

            "Of course, but—"

            "You saying Allegorus don't hang around the
Tower?" Marv challenged.

            "Well, no," Lafayette conceded.
"He dropped in while I was there, as a matter of fact."

            "What
I
don't figger," Marv
confided, rubbing his unshaven jaw with a horny palm, "is hows come you
don't use some o' them snazzy tricks which you're justly famous for and all, to
locate this Daffy broad you're hung up on."

            "I wish I could," Lafayette mourned. "But
ever since they focused the suppressor on me"—his thought continued after
his voice faded—"still, I
did
handle old Trog pretty well when he
was all set to give me the works. Maybe if I
really
concentrate—"

            "Hey, Al, don't go working no spells while I'm
around, OK?" Marv broke into his reverie. "I'm skeered o' witchcraft
and like that. So just wait'll I take cover. Hark! What's that?"

            "That's I and my boys putting the arm on
you, dumdum," an unfamiliar voice replied to Marv's rhetorical question. A
big fellow wearing a faded and patched but recognizable uniform resembling that
of the Royal Artesian Pioneer Corps stepped from the underbrush, holding in his
fist a naked short-sword with which he whacked idly at the obstructing brush.

-

            "Uh-oh," Marv said in a stricken tone.
"General Frodolkin hisself, if I ain't mistaken."

            "None other, Marv," the great man
acknowledged.

            "Chee, sir," Marv said in tones of
wonder. "Hows come Yer Worship to know my name and all?"

            "Surely you recall, Marv: Last fall you
turned your coat and for some days were one of my most trusted retainers.
Unfortunately, after that you blotted your copybook badly by turning it again
and redefecting to the upstart Trog with my second best dirk—with sheath—and
wild tales of an imminent attack by me."

            "I can explain, Yer Lordship," Marv
came back uncertainly. "See, I got a idea to spy out old Trog, which he
never did appreciate my loyal service, and come back to tip you off, which ya
could beat him to the punch."

            "Umm," Frodolkin murmured. "A
matter into which my PPS will inquire later. Now, who's your companion here?
Didn't I hear you call him Allegorus?"

            "Ya could've," Marv conceded.

            "Capital!" Frodolkin cried. "I
have need of your services, sir," he went on, looking at Lafayette
directly for the first time. Then he turned to yell over his shoulder:
"George! Iron-Head Mike! Take me this pair at once! On the double!"

            In response to this bellow, two surly louts came
thrusting through the screen of trees, glowering. At sight of O'Leary, they
moved in eagerly. At that moment, it occurred forcibly to O'Leary that he had
definitely been hasty in leaving the shelter of the laboratory.

            "No rough stuff yet, boys," Frodolkin
said, easing into their path. "I got a use for this prisoner," he
explained, deftly palming off the nearer of the two heavies. "Now, you
just quiet down, George," he admonished. "You'll have your chance to
hear bones breaking later, if he fails to cooperate."

            "Aw, these pansies wit' clean fingernails
always cooperates easy," George complained.

            "Yeah," Iron-Head agreed, nodding his
unkempt mop soberly. "We ain't had no fun since that little sap-sucker in
the fancy britches come pokin' around here, Monday a week."

            Frodolkin turned to Lafayette. "Well, you
see how the wind blows, sir," he said silkily. "So, what is it to be?
Gracious cooperation, or grudging cooperation? I assure you, in the end the
result will be the same, so you'd be wise to cultivate a bit of good will on my
part by willingly performing the trifling task I have in mind for you."

            "Say, Al," Marv muttered
conspiratorially from the side of his mouth, "this here'd be a swell time
for you to pull one of them nifties outer yer sleeve, OK?"

            "Sorry, General," Lafayette said,
ignoring Marv. "First I have to find Daphne—she's lost here somewhere ...
Have you seen a beautiful brunette wearing a blue velvet cloak? Probably scared
to death, poor kid."

            "If I had," Frodolkin responded,
"I'd not be here now, nattering of trifles—not that your presence is to be
regarded lightly."

            Lafayette was thinking furiously: if he
could
manage just one little trick now ... After all, he didn't absolutely
know
there wasn't a squad of the Royal Artesian Household Guard concealed in the
brush, awaiting the moment to move in on these interlopers ... He concentrated
on the details of their red-and-blue uniforms with gold-braided white lapels,
fancy-dress sabers hanging beside polished boots ...

            O'Leary blinked hard as a sudden vertigo seemed
to blur his vision. Then he was back in the dim gray room. He looked around
eagerly for another glimpse of Daphne, but before he could complete his scan,
Frumpkin hurried up, glass in hand.

            "Sorry about the interruption, my
boy," he said hastily, "but as you see, my enemies are everywhere
—the blind fools! Now, as soon as you've decided to be reasonable..."

            Before Lafayette could reply scathingly, the dim
light faded and winked out. Frumpkin's voice continued for a moment; then
sunlight dazzled O'Leary.

            There was a crackle of breaking twigs, and a
paunchy villein in a soiled red-and-blue coat staggered into view, a
decapitated wine bottle clamped in one gnarled fist. A battered saber sheath
dragged the ground, its gold-braided decorations dangling in snarled loops.

            "Oops, par' me, General," he said
blurrily. "Have a li'l drinkie?" He proffered the bottle, which
Frodolkin struck aside before George could reach it.

           
Almost,
Lafayette told himself.
I came
close, but my focus seems to be a bit off. Still, it's a start.

           
"How's about it, Al?" Marv
persisted. "How about a neat one, like the time you turned youself into a
big bird? Or the time you had the flying carpet and all?" '

            "Not today, Marv," O'Leary said
brusquely. Then to Frodolkin, who had turned the newcomer bodily and with a
shove headed him back whence he had come, "Sorry, General. I'm just here
for a few hours, and I have some very Urgent business to attend to. But, just
out of curiosity, what
is
this boon you're craving of me?"

            "As to that," Frodolkin replied,
"it happens that at present I find it necessary to chastise a rogue known
as Duke Bother-Be-Damned, a chore for which I can ill afford to allocate my own
valuable time just now. Ergo, I wish you to bring the scoundrel to heel on my
behalf."

            "Why should I do your dirty work?"
Lafayette asked reasonably.

            "Aside from George and Iron-Head Mike,
there are a number of reasons," Frodolkin stated flatly.

            "Sorry," Lafayette said. "I don't
have time. Actually, I think I'll just nip back into the Tower for a moment; it
seems I forgot something."

            "Indeed you did, Sir Allegorus,"
Frodolkin agreed with a wave of his hand, which drew O'Leary's attention to a
nearly solid ring of unshaven ruffians now surrounding the clearing.

            "OK, now!" Marv hissed in the
direction of O'Leary's ear. "Don't lemme down pal, after I sided witcha an
all," he whined.

            "Is that supposed to be some kind of
threat?" Lafayette demanded of Frodolkin, ignoring Marv plucking at his
sleeve.

            "Supposition does not enter into the
matter," Frodolkin replied coolly. "As for 'some kind of threat', I
think the nature of the threat is obvious enough." At his nod, Iron-Head
Mike took a step closer to O'Leary.

            "Perhaps," Frodolkin said, "after
you've completed your mission, I'll consider permitting you to revisit yon fell
ruin—though why you should desire to do so is, I confess, a riddle."

            "Look, General," Lafayette said
desperately. "You don't get it. I'm not just some picnicker you happened
to roust. I've got to get back to the lab—it's my only link, maybe, with
Central and Artesia. And meanwhile, my wife, Daphne ... uh, Countess Daphne to
you, is out here somewhere, lost in this crazy jungle full of maniacs!"

            "The Countess, eh?" Frodolkin echoed.
He turned to the nearest of his bodyguard. "Any of you boys seen the
Countess around?" he inquired in a bored tone.

            "Uh, Chief, old Mel-the-Smell's got him a
sow he calls Dutchess," a whiskery fellow volunteered doubtfully.

            "He don't mean no pig," Iron-Head
dismissed the suggestion. "He means a dame, a real snazzy piece too, eh,
kid?" He leered at Lafayette and belched comfortably. "Maybe we're
missing a bet at that, Chief, not collecting duh broad."

           
Now's the time,
Lafayette told himself
grimly. He eyed the seven-foot bruiser, thinking of the heavy lunch of
lobster-tails and pizza the big fellow might well have gulped down half an hour
ago.
Focus the old psychic energies,
he urged himself. Was there a
slight
flicker,
or did he imagine it? He looked at Iron-Head Mike.

            A stricken expression crossed the blunted
features of the bodyguard. He put one large hand tenderly against his abdomen.
His color was no longer good.

            "What's wrong, Iron-Head?" Lafayette
inquired genially. "You look hungry. How about a pizza and a gallon of
warm sweet port?"

            Iron-Head shuddered, looking distinctly green
now.

            "What's all this about pizza?"
Frodolkin demanded. "I've warned you fellows to stay out of my private
mess tent. You wouldn't appreciate the subtleties of smoked oysters, caviar,
escargots, artichoke hearts, pickled onions, and rare wines; that's why I
sequester such comestibles as my portion of our forage."