The World Shuffler (14 page)

“Of course, Highness.” Footsteps, a closing door; a few bars of under-the-breath whistling; then sudden silence, with heavy breathing.

“Damn!” the voice muttered. “Could those little—?” The voice broke off. There were loud, rasping sounds, then a dull
clunk!
followed by total silence.

“Oh-oh,” Lafayette aid. “He’s stopped transmitting.”

The others listened in turn. “He must have realized something was amiss,” Pinchcraft said. “Probably stuffed the ring in a box and closed the lid. So much for counterintelligence.”

“Too bad,” O’Leary said brightly. “Just as it was getting interesting.”

“Yes; well, let’s be going, fellow,” Flimbert said. “The treadmill is waiting.”

“Well—good-bye, Roy,” O’Leary said. “I wouldn’t want to default on my debt to society, of course—but I certainly will hate missing all the excitement.”

“Oh, life around the Ajax Works is pretty quiet, Slim; you won’t be missing much.”

“Just the invasion,” Lafayette said. “It ought to be quite spectacular when Krupkin arrives with his army, navy, and air force.”

“What’s that?” Flimbert snapped. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh—I forgot I was the only one who heard him. But never mind. Maybe he was only fooling.”

“Who?”

“Prince Krupkin. He was closeted with his War Cabinet, laying on the strategy for the takeover. He cut off just as he was about to announce the timetable for the three-pronged assault.”

“Nonsense! Krupkin wouldn’t attack Ajax!”

“Probably not. Just his idea of a joke. Of course, he didn’t know we were listening—but then maybe he’s an eccentric and was just reading off logistical schedules for the fun of it.”

“He couldn’t be so base as to use our own equipment against us?” Flimbert inquired, aghast.

“I wouldn’t put it past him!” Pinchcraft said.

“Well, I’d better get started treading that mill,” Lafayette said. “You gentlemen will be pretty busy for the next twenty-four hours, I suppose, making out wills and burying your valuables—”

“Just a moment. What else did he say? When does he plan to hit us? How many troops has he under arms? What will his primary objectives be? What kind of armaments—”

“Sorry, that was the part he was just coming to.”

“Drat it! Why couldn’t we have tuned in sooner!”

“Look here—can’t you rig up something else, Pinchcraft?” Flimbert demanded. “We have to know what’s going on over there!”

“Not without a pickup planted at that end, I can’t.”

“What about sending over a robot bird to scatter a few bugs around the premises?”

“Useless. The range on these micro-micro jobs is very short. The pickup has to be planted on or near the person of the subject to do us any good.”

“We’ll have to send a man in.”

“Nonsense. None of our boys are as tall as those beanpoles; anyone we sent would be spotted instantly. Unless—”

All eyes turned to O’Leary.

“What, me stick my head in the lions’ den?” he said with raised eyebrows. “Not a chance. I’m on my way to a nice, safe treadmill, remember?”

“Now, now, my boy,” Flimbert said with a smile like the father of a pauper’s bride, “don’t worry about the treadmill. You can always serve out your sentence after you get back—”

“Forget the sentence,” Pinchcraft said. “This is more important. Don’t you want to do your bit, fellow, to assist the forces of righteousness?”

“What have the forces of righteousness done for me lately?” O’Leary inquired rhetorically. “No, thanks, men, you can just carry on without me as you did before I came along.”

“See here, Slim” Roy said. “I didn’t think you were the kind of fellow who’d let the side down when the pinch came.”

“The pinch came half an hour ago, remember? You did the pinching.”

“Sir,” Pinchcraft spoke up, “we appeal to your nobler instincts! Assist us now, and earn our undying gratitude!”

O’Leary patted back a yawn. “Thanks—I’m overstocked on gratitude.”

“Possibly some more negotiable form of payment ...?” Flimbert suggested.

O’Leary raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips.

“You’ll have the best equipment from our labs,” Pinchcraft said quickly. “I’m just finishing up a blackout cloak in your size, as it happens, and—”

“We’ll drop you onto a balcony on the main turret of the Glass Tree on a fast one-place rug,” Flimbert chimed in. “The trip won’t take an hour.”

“Are you out of your minds?” O’Leary demanded. “My only chance would be to sneak up after dark and try for an unlocked door.”

“Not with this on!” Pinchcraft hopped from his stool, grabbed up a long, red-lined green-velvet cape from a worktable, and swirled it around himself. The heavy fabric whirled, shimmered—and disappeared, along with the small technician.

“Huh?” O’Leary said.

“Not bad, eh?” Pinchcraft’s voice spoke from the emptiness where he had stood a moment before.

“M-magic?” Lafayette stuttered.

“Nonsense. Electronics.” Pinchcraft’s face appeared, framed by nothingness. “Well, how about it?”

O’Leary forced the astounded look from his face.

“Well—I might go,” he said, “provided you make that a two-man rug.”

“Whatever you want, Slim” Roy spoke up. “For a volunteer hero like you, nothing but the best!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you in,” Pinchcraft said.

“And out again?” O’Leary countered.

“One thing at a time,” Flimbert said. “Come along, fellow, let’s get you fitted out. I want you inside the Glass Tree by sundown.”

Eight

It was late afternoon, Lafayette saw, when Sprawnroyal led him along a twisting passage to a double door opening on a tiny balcony overlooking the vast sweep of the valley below.

“Now, you want to be careful of the carpet, Slim” the Customer Relations man said as he rolled out the six-by-eight-foot rectangle of what looked like ordinary dark-blue Wilton carpet. “The circuits are tuned to your personal emanations, so nobody can hijack her. She’s voice-operated, so be careful what you say. And remember, there’s no railings, so watch those banked turns. The coordination’s built in, naturally, but if you’re careless—well, keep in mind you’ve got no parachute.”

“That’s all very encouraging,” Lafayette said, adjusting the hang of the blackout cloak and fighting down a quivering sensation in his stomach. “With all this gear Pinchcraft loaded on me, I feel as maneuverable as a garbage scow.”

“Frankly, he sees this as a swell chance to field-test a lot of the offbeat items he and his boys cook up on those long winter nights. Like the sneeze generator: top management wouldn’t let him call for volunteers, even. And the flatwalker: it’s a dandy idea, but if it doesn’t work—
blooie!
There goes your research worker and a big chunk of lab.”

“Fill me in with a little more data, and the flight is off,” O’Leary said. “Just point me in the right direction before common sense overwhelms my instinct for making mistakes.”

“Just steer due west, Slim. You can’t miss it.”

“You’d be amazed at some of the things I’ve missed,” Lafayette said. “By the way, my name’s not really Slim, you know. It’s Lafayette O’Leary.”

“Yeah? Say, that’s a coincidence—but never mind that. Bon voyage, kid, and don’t forget to flip the switch before you drop the bug in the target’s pocket.”

“Well,” Lafayette said, easing into a sitting position on the dark rug, legs folded. “Here goes ...”

He closed his eyes, thought about the coordinates Flimbert had drilled him in for half an hour. Under him, the thick wool nap seemed to vibrate minutely. He resisted an impulse to grab for support as the rug stirred, twitched, tightened; forced himself to sit limply.

“Like a sack of potatoes,” he reminded himself while sweat ran down behind his head. “A big burlap bag of good old Idaho baking potatoes ...”

The tugging, swaying sensation went on; a breeze that had sprung up blew gustily at him, riffling his hair, making the cloak flap.

“Come on, lift!” he hissed. “Before that Flimbert sharpy realizes they’ve been conned!”

Nothing changed. The wind whipped briskly about him; the rug felt passive under him.

“Oh, great,” Lafayette said. “I should have known this idea wouldn’t work.” He opened his eyes gazed blankly for a moment at the vista of open blue sky ahead, then turned, looked back. ...

On the tiny balcony scabbed to the face of the immense cliff receding rapidly behind him, a tiny figure waved a scarf. O’Leary forced his eyes down, saw the rolling grassy landscape sliding swiftly behind him. He closed his eyes tightly.

“Mamma mia,” he muttered. “And me without even a paper bag, in case I get airsick!”

The palace-fortress known as the Glass Tree rose out of the west like a star caught on the peak of a mountain. Dazzling in the rays of the setting sun, it scintillated red and green and yellow and violet, materializing gradually into a cluster of sparkling, crystalline shafts. A branching structure of tall towers, dazzling bright minarets, glittering spires, clustered on the tip of the highest peak of the range.

“O.K., cloak, do your stuff,” O’Leary murmured, gathering the garment about him, arranging the wide skirts so as to encompass as much as possible of the carpet itself. Sprawnroyal had assured him that Prince Krupkin was in possession of no antiaircraft facilities, but Lafayette nonetheless scrunched down on the rug to provide the minimum possible target as he swooped toward the looming structure ahead.

At half a mile he ordered the rug to slow. If there was any change in the speed—too fast—and the direction—dead at the tallest tower—Lafayette was unable to detect it. With frightening speed, the slim, glittering minaret rushed closer ...

At the last possible instant, the rug braked, banked—almost pitching a petrified O’Leary over the side—and circled the tower.

“Like a sack of Idaho number-ones,” O’Leary whispered urgently to himself. “Please, up there, just let me get out of this one alive, and I promise to tithe regularly ...”

The rug slewed to a halt, hung quivering in the air before a tall, Moorish-arched window.

“OK, all ahead, dead slow,” Lafayette whispered. The rug drifted closer to the translucent, mirror-polished wall. When it nudged the crystal rail, he reached cautiously, grabbed, and held on. The rug bobbled and swayed under him as he climbed over; relieved of his weight, it began to drift away, rippling slightly in the breeze. Lafayette caught a corner, pulled the carpet to him, rolled it into a tight cylinder, and propped it in a corner.

“Just wait here until I get back,” he whispered to it. He took a moment to tuck in the tail of the embroidered shirt Sprawnroyal had supplied, and tug his jeweled sword into line, then pressed the button set in the pommel of the latter.

“Flapjack to Butterfly,” he whispered. “O.K., I’m down, in one piece.”

“Very good,” a shrill whisper rasped from the two-way comm rig installed in the weapon’s hilt.
“Proceed inside, and make you
r
way to
the
royal apartments.
They’re on
the twelfth floor of the main keep. Watch your step; don’t give yourself away
by knocking over
a
vase or stepping on somebody’s
foot.”

“Glad you mentioned that,” Lafayette snapped. “I intended to come on strumming a ukulele and singing ‘Short’nin’
Bread.’ “

He tried the door, stepped into a dim-lit, softly carpeted chamber hung with rose-and-silver drapes. A pink- and silver four-poster stood opposite the balcony. Silver cupids disported themselves at the corners of the dusty-rose ceiling. A wide crystal chandelier sparkled in the center of the room, tinkling with the breeze from the open door. Lafayette started toward a wide silver-and-white door at the far side of the room, halted at the sound of voices beyond it.

“... just for a nightcap,” a wheedling male voice said. “And besides,” it went on with an audible leer, “you might need a little help with those buttons.”

“You’re impertinent, sir,” a familiar feminine voice said in a playful tone. “But I suppose it will be all right—for a few minutes.”

“Daphne?”
Lafayette mumbled. As a key clattered in the lock, he dived for the shelter of the four-poster. He had no more than gained the darkness behind the brocaded skirt when the door opened. Lying with his face to the rug, Lafayette could see a pair of trim ankles in tiny black patent-leather pumps with silver buckles, closely attended by a pair of shiny black boots with jingling jeweled spurs. The two sets of feet moved across the room, out of Lafayette’s line of sight. There were soft sounds as of gentle scuffling, a low laugh.

“Avaunt thee, sirrah!” the female voice said mildly. “You’ll muss my coiffure.”

As Lafayette stretched to get a glimpse of the action from behind the carved claw-and-ball foot of the bed, his sword clanked against the floor. Instantly there was silence.

“Milord Chauncy—didst hear that?”

“Well, I really must be going,” the male voice said loudly, with a slight quaver. “As you know, his Highness—the best boss a fellow ever had— gave orders you were to have whatever you wanted, milady—but I’m afraid that if I lingered any longer attending to your whims, it might be susceptible of misinterpretation—”

“Why, of all the nerve!” There was a sharp
smack!
as of a wrathful feminine hand striking an arrogant male cheek. “As if I invited you here!”

“So ... if you’ll excuse me—”

“Not until you’ve searched the room! It might be a horrid big bristly rat!”

“Yes, but—”

A dainty foot stamped. “At once, Chauncy, or I’ll report that you tried to force your lustful will on me!”

“Who, me, your Ladyship?”

“You heard me!”

“Well ...” Lafayette saw the boots cross the room, pause before the closet; the door opened and shut. The feet went on to the bathroom, disappeared inside, reemerged. They went to the balcony, stepped out, came back.

“Nothing at all. Probably just your imagination—”

“You heard it too! And you haven’t looked under the bed!”

Lafayette froze as the feet crossed to the bed, halted two feet from the tip of his nose. The skirt was lifted; a narrow face with fierce, spiked mustachios and a pair of small, beady eyes peered directly into his face.