The World Shuffler (19 page)

The Ajax representative said petulantly, “What about me? For the past three years this swindling confidence man who called himself Krupkin has been gathering resources—largely at the expense of Ajax—for some grandiose scheme. Now, abruptly, he decamps minutes before my arrival, abandoning all this!” Pinchcraft waved a hand to take in the installment-plan luxury all around them.
“Now
who’s going to pay the bills?”

“Why did he suddenly abandon his plans?”

Lafayette inquired. “Could he have been afraid of me—afraid I’d tip Central off to his takeover bid?”

Pinchcraft was frowning in deep puzzlement. “Are you saying, lad, that you know about Central? But that’s—that’s the second most closely guarded secret of the Ajax Specialty Works!”

“Sure—I’m a sort of parttime Central agent myself,” Lafayette said. “But Goruble knew me; and that must be why he packed up and left in the middle of the night—after first bundling me off to bed to get me out of the way. He was afraid I’d recognize him; but I was so dopey with lack of sleep I didn’t know what I was doing. By the time I realized—it was too late.” He sat down heavily and groaned again. “If I’d just gone straight to his apartment, instead of wasting time trying to find Lady Andragorre, I’d be back home by now.”

“Don’t take it too hard, Lafe,” Swinehild said. “You done your best.”

“Not yet, I haven’t!” Lafayette smacked a fist into his palm. “Maybe I can still get ahead of him. He doesn’t know I know what I know—not that I know much. But I still have an ace or two: Goruble doesn’t know I know who and what he is. And he doesn’t know I have a line of credit with Ajax!”

“Who says you have a line of credit with Ajax?” Pinchcraft cut in.

“Well—under the circumstances—since you and I are interested in the same thing: laying Krupkin/Goruble by the heels ...”

“Well—all right,” Pinchcraft muttered. “Within limits. What do you have in mind?”

“I need to get back to Port Miasma and tip Rodolpho off. Maybe between us we can throw a stillson wrench into Goruble’s plans. How about it, Pinchcraft? Will you help me?”

“I suppose it can be arranged—but you already owe us for a number of items—”

“We’ll settle all that later. Let’s get moving; it’s a long walk, and time’s of the essence and all that.”

“I suppose I can crowd you into the tunnel car we came in,” Pinchcraft said reluctantly. “Even though it’s supposed to be for official use only.”

“Tunnel car? You mean there’s a tunnel all the way from here to the Ajax plant?”

“Certainly. I told you I never trusted this fellow—”

“Then why,” Lafayette demanded, “was I sent out here on that flimsy little Mark IV carpet? I could have broken my neck!”

“All’s well that end’s well,” Pinchcraft pointed out. “I needed a diversion to cover my repossession. And when would I ever have a better chance to field-test the equipment? Let’s go, men. The night’s work’s not over yet!”

It was a fast, noisy, dusty ride in a child-sized subway train that hurtled along the tracks laid through the twisting series of caverns underlying the miles of desert over which O’Leary had flitted so nervously the previous night. Swinehild cuddled next to him in the cramped seat and slept soundly until the car docked at their destination. She oohed and ahed at the sights as they left the terminus and made their way through vast workshops, foundries, stamping plants, refineries, the odors and tumult of a busy underground manufacturing operation.

“I’ve always heard about elves toiling away under the mountain,” Lafayette confided in his guide as they emerged into the comparative quiet of the admin level. “But I always pictured little fellows with beards pounding out gold arm rings at a hand forge.”

“We modernized a while back,” Sprawnroyal told him. “Production’s up eight hundred percent in the last fiscal century alone.”

In the retail-sales department, Swinehild watched in silence as a bustling crew of electronics men rolled out a small, dark-green carpet at Pinchcraft’s instruction.

“This is our Mark XII, the latest model,” the production chief stated proudly. “Windscreen, air and music, safety belt, and hand-loomed deep pile as soft as goofer feathers.”

“It’s cute,” Swinehild said. “But where do I sit?”

“You can’t go,” O’Leary said shortly. “Too dangerous.”

“I am too going,” she came back sharply. “Just try and stop me!”

“You think I’d risk your neck on this contraption? Out of the question!”

“You think I’m going to sit around this marble factory ducking my head under the ceiling while you go off and get yourself killed?”

“Not on your life, lady,” Sprawnroyal said. “Fitzbloomer, roll out a Mark XIII—a two-seater.” He gave O’Leary a challenging look. “Anybody thinks I’m going to get myself saddled with the care and feeding of a broad two feet higher’n me’s got wrong ideas.”

“Well ... in that case,” O’Leary subsided.

It was the work of ten minutes to check circuits, carry the Mark XIII to a launching platform on the face of the cliff, and balance out the lift system for a smooth, level ride.

“Contraption, eh?” Pinchcraft snorted under his breath. “She’ll handle like an ocean liner. Just hold her under sixty for the first few miles, until you get the feel of her.”

“Sure,” Lafayette said, tucking his fur-lined blackout cloak around him against the bitter night wind. Swinehild settled herself behind him, with her arms around his waist.

“Here we go,” O’Leary said. There was the familiar lifting surge, a vertiginous moment as the rug oriented itself on the correct course line. Then the wind was whistling past their faces as the lights of the Ajax Specialty Works receded behind them.

“I hope you ain’t mad at me for coming along,” Swinehild whispered in Lafayette’s rapidly numbing ear.

“No, not really,” O’Leary called over his shoulder. “Just don’t get in my way when the action starts to hot up. Krupkin beat it because he was afraid I’d realize who he was and unleash my psychic energies on him.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “I recognized him, all right—but what he doesn’t know is that I haven’t got a psychic erg to my name anymore.”

“You’ve got luck,” Swinehild pointed out. “Like finding that door into the tunnel just when you did. That’s just about as good, I guess.”

“There’s something strange about my luck,” O’Leary said. “It’s either unbelievably bad, or unbelievably good. Like finding that disguise in the park—and before that, in the boat, coming up with a knife just when I need it: sometimes it’s almost as if my psychic energies were back at work. But then I try again, and draw a goose egg. It’s very unsettling.”

“Don’t worry bout it, Lafe. Just take it as it comes. That’s what I do—and somehow I always get by.”

“That’s all very well for you,” O’Leary countered. “All you’re interested in is getting to the big town and living high; as for me—there are times when I almost wish I was still back at Mrs. MacGlint’s, with nothing to worry about but earning enough to keep me in sardines and taffy.”

“Yeah—you got it rough, all right, Lafe, being a hero and everything.”

“Hero? Me?” O’Leary laughed modestly. “Oh, I’m not really a hero,” he assured his companion. “I mean, heroes love danger: they’re always dashing around looking for adventure, and that sort of thing. Whereas all I want is peace and quiet.”

“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 circuitory. “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.”