Lem, Stanislaw (17 page)

villagers talking excitedly of how his colleague, Trurl, had

flown out of the royal palace like one possessed, and how, racing

down the long, steep steps that led to the harbor, he'd taken a spill

and broken his leg. How this drove him into a most amazing frenzy;

how, lying there, he bellowed that he was King Balerion Himself,

called for the royal physicians, a stretcher with feather pillows,

sweet essences and balm; and how, when the people laughed at this

madness, he crawled along the pavement, cursing terribly and rending

his garments, until one passerby took pity on him and bent over to

help. How then the fallen constructor tore the hat off his head,

revealing—and there were witnesses to swear to this—devil's

horns. How with those horns he rammed the good Samaritan in the head,

then fell senseless, strangely stiff and groaning feebly, while the

good Samaritan suddenly changed, "as if an evil spirit had taken

hold of him," and dancing, skipping, shoving aside everyone who

stood in his way, galloped down the steps to the harbor.

Klapaucius grew faint when he heard

all of this, for he understood that Balerion, having damaged Trurl's

body (and after using it for so short a time), had cunningly switched

to the body of some stranger. "Now it's started," he

thought with horror. "And how will I ever find Balerion, hidden

in a body I don't even know? Where do I begin to look?!" He

tried to learn from the villagers who this passerby was, who had so

nobly approached the injured pseudo-Trurl, and also, what had become

of the horns. Of the good Samaritan they knew only that his dress was

foreign, though unmistakably naval, which suggested he'd stepped off

a vessel from distant skies; concerning the horns, nothing. But then

a certain mendicant whose legs had rusted through (a widower, he had

no one to keep them taped and tarred) and who was therefore obliged

to go around on wheels attached to his hips, which indeed gave him a

better vantage point on what transpired at ground level, told

Klapaucius that the worthy mariner had snatched the horns from the

prone constructor's head with such speed, that no one but himself had

seen it. So, apparently Balerion was again in possession of the

transformer and could continue this hair-raising business of jumping

from body to body. The news that he now occupied the person of a

sailor was especially disturbing. "Of all things, a sailor!"

thought Klapaucius. "When shore leave is up and he doesn't

appear on board (and how can he, not knowing which ship is his?), the

captain is bound to notify the authorities, they'll arrest the

deserter of course, and Our Highness will find himself in a dungeon!

And if at any time he beats his head against the dungeon wall in

despair—with the horns on—then may heaven help us all!!"

There was little chance, if any, of locating the sailor who was

Balerion, but Klapaucius hastened to the harbor. Luck was with him,

for he saw a sizable crowd gathered up ahead. Certain he was on the

right track, he mingled with the crowd and soon learned, from what

was said here and there, that his worst fears were being realized.

Only minutes earlier, a certain respectable skipper, the owner of an

entire fleet of merchant ships, had recognized a crewman of his, a

person of sterling character; yet now this worthy individual was

hurling insults at all who went by, and to those who cautioned him to

be on his way lest the police come, he shouted he could become

whoever he wanted, and that included the whole police force.

Scandalized by such behavior, the skipper remonstrated with his

crewman, who replied by striking him with a large stick. Then a

police squad, patrolling the harbor as a place of frequent

altercations and disorders, arrived on the scene, and it so happened

the Commissioner himself was in charge. The Commissioner, seeing that

the unruly sailor refused to listen to reason, ordered him thrown in

jail. But while they were making the arrest, the sailor suddenly

hurled himself at the Commissioner like one possessed and butted him

with what seemed to resemble horns. Directly after that, he began to

howl that he was a policeman, and not just any policeman, but chief

commander of the harbor patrol, while the Commissioner, instead

of being angered by this insolent raving, laughed as if it were

a tremendous joke, but then ordered his subordinates to escort

the troublemaker to prison without further delay, nor to be sparing

with their clubs and fists in the process.

Thus, in less than an hour, Balerion

had managed to change his corporeal quarters three times, presently

occupying the body of a police commissioner, who, though Lord

knew he was innocent, had to sit and stew in some dark, dank cell.

Klapaucius sighed and went directly to the police station. It was

situated on the coast, a heavy stone edifice. No one barred the way,

so he went inside and walked through a few empty rooms, until he

found himself standing in front of a veritable giant several sizes

too large for his uniform and armed to the teeth. This hulk of an

individual glowered at Klapaucius and stepped forward, as if to throw

him out bodily—but suddenly gave a wink (though Klapaucius

certainly had never met him before) and burst out laughing. The voice

was gruff, a policeman's voice beyond a shadow of a doubt, yet the

laugh—and particularly that wink—brought to mind

Balerion, and indeed, it was Balerion on the other side of that

desk, though obviously not in his own person!

"I knew you right off," said

Balerion the policeman. "You were at the palace, you're the

friend of the one who had the apparatus. Well, what do you think?

Isn't this a fabulous hiding place? They'll never find me, you know,

not in a million years! And it's so much fun being a big, strong

policeman! Watch!"

And he brought his huge policeman's

fist down on the desk with such force that it split in half—though

there was a cracking in the hand as well. Balerion winced and said:

"Ow, I snapped something. But

that's okay. If need be, I can always change—into you, for

example!"

Klapaucius backed off in the direction

of the door, but the policeman blocked the way with his colossal

frame and went on:

"Not that I have anything against

you personally, you understand. But you know too much, old boy. So I

really think it's best we put you in the clink. Yes, into the clink

with you!" And he gave a nasty laugh. "That way, when I

leave the force, no one—not even you—will have the

foggiest notion where, or rather who, I am! Ha-ha!"

"But Your Majesty!"

Klapaucius protested. "You don't know all the dangers of the

device. Suppose you entered the body of someone with a fatal illness,

or a hunted criminal…"

"No problem," said the King.

"All I have to do is remember one thing: after every

switch, grab the horns!"

And he pointed to the broken desk,

where the device lay in an open drawer.

"As long as, each time," he

said, "I pull it off the head of the person I just was and hold

on to it, nothing can harm me!"

Klapaucius did his best to persuade

the King to abandon the idea of future personality transfers, but it

was quite hopeless; the King only laughed and made jokes, then

finally said, clearly enjoying himself:

"I won't go back to the

palace—you can forget about that! Anyway, I'll tell you: I see

before me a great voyage, traveling among my loyal subjects from body

to body, which, after all, is very much in keeping with my democratic

principles. And then for dessert, so to speak, the body of some fair

maiden—that ought to be a most edifying experience, don't

you think? Ha-ha!"

And he threw open the door with a

great, hairy paw and bawled for his subordinates. Klapaucius, seeing

they would lock him up for sure unless he acted at once, grabbed an

inkwell and tossed its contents into the King's face, then in the

general confusion leaped out a window into the street. By a great

stroke of luck, there were no witnesses about, and he was able to

make it to a populous square and lose himself in the crowd before the

police began pouring from the station, straightening their shakos and

waving their weapons in the air.

Plunged in thoughts that were far from

pleasant, Klapaucius walked away from the harbor. "It would be

best, really," he said to himself, "to leave that

incorrigible Balerion to his fate, go to the hospital where Trurl's

body is staying, occupied by the honest sailor, and bring it to

the palace, so my friend can be himself again, body and soul. Though

it's true that that would make the sailor King instead of

Balerion—and serve that rascal right!" Not a bad plan

perhaps, but inoperable for the lack of a small but indispensable

item, namely the transformer with the horns, which at present lay in

the drawer of a policeman's desk. For a moment Klapaucius considered

the possibility of constructing another such device—no, there

was neither the time nor the means. "But here's an idea,"

he thought. "I'll go to Trurl, who's the King and by now has

surely come to his senses, and I'll tell him to have the army

surround the harbor police station. That way, we'll recover the

device and Trurl can get back to his old self!"

However, Klapaucius wasn't admitted to

the palace. The King, so the sentries told him, had been put under

heavy electrostatic sedation by his physicians and should sleep like

a top for the next twenty-eight hours at least.

"That's all we need!"

groaned Klapaucius, and hastened to the hospital where Trurl's body

was staying, for he feared that it might have already been discharged

and irretrievably lost in the labyrinth of the big city. At the

hospital he presented himself as a relative of the one with the

broken leg; the name he managed to read off the in-patient register.

He learned that the injury wasn't serious, a bad sprain and not a

fracture, though the patient would have to remain in traction for

several days. Klapaucius, of course, had no intention of

visiting the patient—it would only come out that they weren't

even acquainted. Reassured at least that Trurl's body wouldn't run

off on him unexpectedly, he left the hospital and took to wandering

the streets, deep in thought. Somehow he found himself back in the

vicinity of the harbor and noticed the place was swarming with

police; they were stopping everyone, carefully comparing face after

face with a description each officer carried with him in a notebook.

Klapaucius immediately guessed that this was the doing of Balerion,

who at all costs wanted him under lock and key. Just then a patrol

approached—and two guards rounded the corner in the opposite

direction, cutting off his retreat. Klapaucius quietly gave himself

up, demanding only that they take him before the Commissioner, saying

that it was most urgent, that he was in possession of extremely

important evidence concerning a certain horrible crime. They took him

into custody and handcuffed him to a burly policeman; at the station,

the Commissioner—Balerion— greeted him with a grunt of

satisfaction and an evil twinkle in his beady eyes. But Klapaucius

was already exclaiming, in a voice not his own:

"Great One! High-high Police Sir!

They take me, they say me Klapaucius, me not Klapaucius, not-not, me

not even know who-what Klapaucius! Maybe that Klapaucius he bad one,

one who bam-bam horns in head, make big magic, bad magic, make that

me not me, put head in other head, take old head, horns, run zip-zip,

O Much Police Sir! Help!"

And with these words did the wily

Klapaucius fall to his knees, shaking his head and muttering in a

strange tongue. Balerion, standing behind the desk in a uniform with

wide epaulets, blinked as he listened, somewhat taken aback; he gave

the kneeling Klapaucius a closer look and began to nod, apparently

convinced—-unaware that the constructor, on the way to the