Chapter Fifteen

 

            Back on the ground, Lafayette went along apparently docilely when Chuck's pudgy but surprisingly powerful fingers clamped on his arm and urged him toward a nearly intact tent of an offensive ocher-pink color, with contrasting patches. Inside, in an odor of hot rubberized canvas, he accepted a seat on the edge of a folding director's chair with MINE lettered on its back. The showman took a position behind an un-painted board-and-orange-crate desk, the big .45 in front of him. Chick posted herself beside the fly, gun in hand.

 

            "We're finely beginning to get a handle onta you, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-ls," Chuck stated in the tone of a magistrate introducing a dull stretch on his calendar. "We know now we got to take you inta account. Leastways, Chief says so; and I'm a kump'ny man, so just you lay it out plain: What's your angle in this?"

 

            "I have to find Daphne and get back home with her," Lafayette said tightly. "That's all. You can keep the rest."

 

            "Don't go tellin' me what I can keep," Chuck instructed Lafayette coldly. "Don't get no idear you're in the saddle here; onney you got a couple tricks Chief wants to find out about, is all's kep you alive up to now; so spill it: How'd you tie in to the Prime Generator?"

 

            "Never heard of it," Lafayette said.

 

            "Now, don't go givin' us that old crap," Chick commanded in an irascible tone. "We ain't got all the mornin'."

 

            "I thought it was afternoon," Lafayette said.

 

            "Don't matter none," Chuck stated. "Mornin' or evenin', you're openin' up now."

 

            "I would," O'Leary assured his captors, "if I knew what to tell you. All I know is, I don't know what's going on, and haven't, since I did that dumb trick with the tail of the Unicorn."

 

            "Ain't no sich of a thang's a unnercorn, not in this whole lamina," Chuck cut in.

 

            "Not a real unicorn," O'Leary explained. "The constellation, you know—the same one some people call Ursa Major, or the Great Wain."

 

            "Now let's not get inta that level o' energy transfer," Chuck admonished. "Stick to plain old A-level stuff fer now. Chief'll wanna know all about the G-scale stuff later."

 

            "I didn't do it intentionally," Lafayette explained. "I was just musing, sort of."

 

            "Well, we ain't amused," Chick put in. "Come on, Charles, might's well take this feller on in to Field HQ; we ain't gonna get anyplace with him. Let's face it, we ain't got the education to ask the right questions."

 

            "Guess yer right," Chuck conceded. "Jest figgered it'd be kind of a nice note in the old Performance Record if we could take Chief the whole story all wrapped up."

 

            "Get us kilt or worse, tryna second-think old Chief," Chick stated bluntly.

 

            "Quite right, my dear," Frumpkin's voice interrupted as the Man in Black strolled casually into the tent. "Actually," he went on, "I've decided to remain at this locus until I have all the facts from our Mr. O'Leary here. You two may go along now. I shall conduct the interrogation in my own way."

 

           

 

            "Tole ya, Charles," Chick's metallic voice was informing her partner as they exited clumsily, Chuck muttering under his breath.

 

            "Have no fear," Frumpkin said over his shoulder. "Your apprehension of this fellow will be noted in the record." Frumpkin turned casually toward the rude desk, but before he had taken a step toward it, O'Leary had reached him and taken a secure grip on the elegant official's neck.

 

            "We'll talk, all right," Lafayette said. "But you'll be answering the questions. Start with that fiasco back in Nicodaeus' old lab: What were you and your sidekick Belarius V doing there? And why did you try to grab me? Where's Daphne?"

 

            "Unhand me, Lafayette," Frumpkin ordered in a strained voice as he attempted to reach inside his well-tailored black tunic, a move which Lafayette countered by seizing the arm and bringing it up behind his would-be captor's back. Seeming to take no notice, Frumpkin continued: "You gain nothing by submitting my person to indignities, my lad. Inasmuch as I'm well aware you've not the necessary toughness of spirit to commit murder in cold blood, we may as well conduct ourselves as gentlemen."

 

            "My blood could warm up," O'Leary informed his captive, "unless you tell me right now what's happened to Daphne." He increased pressure on both neck and arm, eliciting a sharp squeak from the no longer haughty Man in Black.

 

            "Kindly accept my assurances that I know nothing of this Daphne persona to whom you allude," Frumpkin blurted, attempting to twist free of O'Leary's grip, which he accordingly tightened.

 

            "Better not struggle," Lafayette advised the smaller man concernedly. "I don't like the sound of that shoulder joint."

 

-

 

            "Oho," the hearty voice of Duke Bother-Be-Damned boomed in the entry. "I see you've the situation well in hand, Sir Lafayette. I encountered the curious pair calling themselves Chick of Chickenchuck and Chuck of Chuckenchick, or the like. I managed to elicit from them the cause of their abrupt exit from this rude pavilion, and came hither at once, in the event you required my aid. But of course, 'twere footless. I am about to proceed now on the errand which was interrupted by the mishap to my fire-chariot, the which I hope will dispel this wretched enchantment. Wilt accompany me, Sir Lafayette? I'd fain have a true man at my side when I go to consult the dread witch-woman."

 

            "Sure, Bother, I'll come," Lafayette agreed, watching closely as Frumpkin, whom he had released, crept to the seat behind the desk, all trace of arrogance gone from his demeanor. He sat and began plucking at the papers scattered on the desk.

 

            "Tis good," the duke commented cheerfully, "to see this popinjay's airs punctured. His manner was too pushy by half. Now," he continued, fixing a fierce-eyed gaze on the crestfallen Man in Black, "no mischief in my absence, mind. On my return I shall deal with your pretensions in mete fashion. Come, Sir Lafayette." He turned, and Lafayette followed him to the tent-fly and out into the watery sunlight.

 

            "This witch-woman," O'Leary said, overtaking the big fellow, "this is the first I've heard of her. Who is she? Why do you want to see her?"

 

            "How now? This province of Leary must indeed lie in the remote boondocks," Bother returned. "If you've heard naught of the fame of Henriette in the Hill, mistress of the Black Art."

 

            "Yes, it's a long way from here," Lafayette conceded. "Do you really believe in magic?"

 

            "How not?" the duke snorted. "Have I not seen the very world transformed before mine eyes?"

 

            "Sure," O'Leary agreed. "So have I—lots of times; but that's different."

 

            "Aye, as the great evil differs from the lesser," Bother proclaimed.

 

            "No," Lafayette objected. "The difference is magic versus science." He went on to explain that a shift from one probability to another potentiality was accomplished by the manipulation of natural forces.

 

            "Aye, with the help of the Evil One," the duke agreed, "as when by a potion of the poisonous love-apple steeped in the broth of nettle and thorn-of-rose a lady's love is obtained."

 

            "That's not the same at all," O'Leary objected doggedly. "In the first place, that's nonsense; and in the second place, it doesn't work. Science works."

 

            "And so had we best, lad!" Bother replied, giving O'Leary a hearty clap on the back with a mailed gauntlet which so emptied the latter's lungs that for some moments his attention was fully occupied with the effort to draw a wheezing breath.

 

            He felt himself reeling, consciousness fading into grayness. A few feet away, Frumpkin was busily packing a gladstone bag with what appeared to be a mixture of iron rations and high-tech gadgets. The Man in Black looked up, shook his head impatiently, and snapped his bag shut. "See here," he barked. "Can't you see the futility of this persecution of me? I've made you a gentleman's offer; why not accept it, eh?"

 

            "Where's Daphne?" O'Leary came back coldly.

 

            "Back to that, eh?" Frumpkin inquired rhetorically. "I can assure you—"

 

            "Don't bother," Lafayette cut him off. "Just call her out; I notice she comes on command," he added bitterly.

 

            "That is not convenient, Lafayette," Frumpkin said with finality. "I'm in the midst of launching a significant new initiative," he explained, "and your interference now will not be tolerated."

 

            "What are you going to do about it?" Lafayette challenged.

 

            Frumpkin frowned at him thoughtfully, then smiled a wintry smile. "You shall see, in due course," he stated, turned away, and was gone. Lafayette spent a few minutes wandering among the big chairs, looking for the vanished agent, then went over to the control panel where a red light glowed over a dial calibrated in regular degrees from DUBIOUS to IRON-CLAD. On impulse, he closed a switch labeled RANDOM-INTRO. Needles jumped on the panel, and red and amber lights began to wink in phase. Frumpkin uttered a yell and his leap caught O'Leary off-guard. He staggered, caught himself, and found himself as out of breath as if he had run a mile. He staggered, unsure of where he was.

 

            When he returned his attention to his immediate surroundings, he saw two large saddle horses approaching, led by a liveried groom along the narrow catwalk. The immaculately curried flanks of the great steeds were already mud-flecked.

 

-

 

            "That's quite ... a neat trick too," O'Leary observed with some difficulty.

 

            "Nay, Sir Lafayette, I'll take no credit. I but employ my summoner"—he paused to show Lafayette a small hand-held intercom unit—"and give the appropriate instructions."

 

            "Neat," Lafayette repeated, craning to get a better view of the device before the duke tucked it away in a pouch slung from his baldric. "But ... where did they come from? I don't see any royal stables around here," he finished with a gasp and paused again to breathe.

 

            "Trouble not thyself with trifles, Milord of Leary," Bother said solicitously, "but hast thou taken a quartan ague? I see you puff and wheeze like an aged chieftain in his dotage. Fear not, boy, Milady Henriette will have you fit in a trice. Good looker, too, tis rumored," he added. "Let's be off without ado!" He climbed aboard the nearest horse, a sturdy bay, with surprising agility, rejecting the aid of the groom who fell on his back in the mud, spurned by the ducal foot.

 

            "You don't hafta overdo it, Inspector," the servitor muttered, getting up. "After all, we got a union, same as anybody else, and when this caper is over—" he broke off as Bother's mount, apparently accidentally, brushed him aside as the duke spurred forward.

 

            "What was that?" O'Leary asked the confused lad as he rose for the second time from the muck.

 

            "Tell ya," the groom said angrily, "some o' these spot-checkers get too big for their britches—ack like they was what they're spose to be—steada Civil Service like the rest of us." He shut up abruptly, then continued in a brighter tone, "Spirited mounts, sir knight. How's about if I just kinda hold the stirrup for ya?" He clung desperately to the reins as the big black reared, rebuffing O'Leary's first attempt to mount.

 

            As the mud-coated groom, now looking like all the other residents of the village, tugged at his forelock and backed away, Lafayette called after him:

 

            "Hey, wait a minute! What's your name? Who are you?"

 

            "Sir, I hight Wryshanks, yclept Lard-Ass, 'prentice to the master of horse to His Ducal Grace, Lord Bother-Be-Damned."

 

            "I mean really," Lafayette persisted. "When you're not on the job."

 

            "Oh. Uh, Horace Ungerfelt, G.S.-3.5, on special TDY to AEDC."

 

            "Working out of Prime?" Lafayette inquired casually.

 

            "Nossir. I'm on detached duty direct out of Supreme HQ"

 

            "Raf trass spoit?" O'Leary said clearly. Horace responded by snapping soggily to attention.

 

            "Yessir. You can count on me, sir," he said in a tone of awe somewhat alleviated by a quick flick of the forefinger at the globule of mud quivering at the tip of his nose, a gesture which produced the clownlike effect of a pale nose on an otherwise mud-caked face.

 

            "At ease, Lard-Ass," O'Leary said easily. "Now just who is this duke fellow, and what's his mission?"

 

            "Inspector of Continua Second Grade Mobius." the groom replied promptly. "Out to nail down some designated Cosmic Enemy who's been overloading the potentiality grid at every level from local to extragalactic. Real menace. Tricky rascal. I even got a stopper tube to use on the devil if I get the chance." Horace patted his chest, where a breast pocket would be, under the coating of mud.

 

            "Does this master criminal have a name?" O'Leary demanded.

 

            "Oh, lot's of 'em. Goes by Sir Al, Slim, Sir Lafayette, Allegorus, and a couple other aliases. A tricky one, milord."

 

            "Wouldst waste time in gossip with a menial while high adventure waits us yonder?" Bother's bass tones recalled Lafayette to the mission at hand. His horse started forward with a leap as the duke jerked at its bridle. Lafayette caught the reins, settled himself in the saddle, and spurred to overtake the duke, who had set off at full gallop, sending up sheets of mud which Lafayette tried with little success to duck. Coming up alongside the duke, he called:

 

            "What's the hurry?"

 

            "Legend has it the witch-woman will disappear one day, in a trice, as mysteriously as she appeared on that long-gone day," Bother yelled over his shoulder. "We must not be late."

 

            "What long-gone day?" O'Leary persisted.

 

            "The same fell day when the great mud-flow engulfed my dukedom. She, poor creature, had clung for life to a floating pig-sty, and thus her devoir demands she honor my suit."

 

            "Does she really live in a hill?" Lafayette cried over the thunder and splash of hooves. "Is she really three hundred years old?"

 

            "As near as may be in these parlous times," Bother called back. "A great heap of rubble it be, caught round the ruin of a proud tower, a perch whence Henriette can oversee a vast sweep of territory. As for her age, I but recount the legend known to all." Having slowed to deliver this explanation, the duke spurred ahead again, and Lafayette held his mount neck-and-neck.