The Galaxy Builder (9 page)

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            "What happened to Marv?" O'Leary
inquired vaguely. "He was right behind us."

            "Inasmuch as the fellow is indigenous to
Aphasia II," Allegorus replied blandly, "it hardly matters."

            "But he was the nearest thing to a friend I
had in this nuthouse," Lafayette objected. He stepped out on the landing
and looked down through dust into darkness. At that moment a despairing cry
came from far below:

            "Al—gimme a hand. It's me, Marv, your old
sidekick—and it looks like they got me!"

            "He calls you 'Al'?" Allegorus
queried.

            "He thinks I'm some spook," Lafayette
explained briefly, then added, "I mean, they've got this superstition
about some weirdo with your name who pops out of the tower every three hundred
years and shakes everybody up. When I came out, they assumed I was him—or you,
if you're really the one they were expecting."

            Allegorus pulled at his chin. "Hmmm,"
he mused. "That's rather curious, actually, Lafayette, considering that
this is, as I mentioned, a spurious locus. It entered on its quasi-existence
less than an hour ago. Yet it has traditional memories of a long history. This
suggests a meddling hand. It is a matter I shall take up with the Council on my
return."

            "Sure, do that," Lafayette replied
absently, ducking as a dislodged stone fell past him to make a resounding smash
far below, followed by yells.

            "OK, Al, that did it. Thanks a bunch,"
Marv's now cheerful voice rang from below. "Oh-oh, here they come
again!" Marv's voice died away in a wail.

            "I've got to help him," Lafayette
said, ducking back as other, smaller stones fell rattling down the steps.

            "Stay here!" Allegorus said sharply.
"The lab is the only stable fix in this entire locus, which seems to be on
the verge of derealization. We'd best get back inside at once!"

            "Well," Lafayette stalled, "it
won't hurt to just sneak a look ..." As he took a cautious step sideways,
an egg-size rock impacted heavily against his skull just above the ear; he
pitched forward and tumbled down into the rolling dustcloud obscuring the
stairway.

            Out of the swirling dust a dim room
materialized; this time Frumpkin was nowhere to be seen. But another figure,
slim and graceful, hurried past.

            "Daphne!" O'Leary yelled, and lunged
after her. She seemed not to notice, pausing only to switch on a standing lamp
which illuminated a bulky easy chair in the depths of which, Lafayette saw with
a start, Frumpkin was curled asleep; he seemed to wake with a start, then waved
a negligent hand in dismissal, at which Daphne turned away. Except for an
expression of disappointment on her sweet face, she seemed just as O'Leary had
seen her last. He started after her and tripped. When he looked up, she was
gone.

            "Look here, Lafayette," Frumpkin said
testily, "this interference will have to stop!"

            Lafayette peered into the dimness but saw
nothing of Daphne; he tried to rise, but collapsed; his hands were painfully
restrained, he realized as he fainted.

-

           
The dungeon,
Lafayette reflected,
is,
as dungeons go, not too bad. No rats, and the straw is almost dry. The
manacles, on the other hand—or on both hands—are large and rusty. Perhaps too
large?
He tried to slip his right hand through the broad iron bracelet; he
winced as the scaly corrosion rasped his skin, but maintained the pressure; his
hand was free, if a bit bloody—but the film of blood had helped lubricate it,
no doubt. The other hand came halfway and wedged tight.

           
Perhaps,
Lafayette told himself, thinking
frantically,
perhaps I left the flat-walker in this suit. I could have. I
never got around to returning the gadget to Ajax, in all the excitement, and I
haven't worn these britches since then, so it ought to be right here in my side
pocket ...
Reaching awkwardly around himself to check his left pocket, he
felt a lump under the cloth, managed to get a finger into the mouth of the
pocket, groped, felt cloth tear—and grasped the miniature device which had once
enabled him to walk through the three-foot-thick wall of the cell under the
palace of Duke Rudolfo in time to rescue the Lady Androgorre, as dear little
Daph—or her alternate self—was known at Melange, a dreary locus indeed. But he
had succeeded in his mission, and now, with the flat-walker in his hand (he had
his old stuff back for sure now), he could do it again. But first he had to
find out just where he was: It would be a pity to pass through the wall only to
find himself treading air fifty feet above a paved courtyard. Perhaps if he
just took a peek, without committing himself ... As to which wall to penetrate,
there was no choice—not as long as he was still linked to one wall by his left
wrist, which was far too tender from his earlier attempt to pull free even to
contemplate submitting to that ordeal again. He turned to face the rough-hewn
wall; as he fingered the tiny flexible flat-walker, his thoughts went back to
the moment in Ajax's rough-hewn cavern lab when Pinchcraft, the research chief,
had instructed him in the theory and practice of flat-walking ...

            "... It generates a field which has the
effect of modifying the spatial relationships of whatever it's attuned to,
vis-à-vis the exocosm. It converts any unilinear dimension into an equivalent
displacement along the perpendicular entropic axis, at the same time setting up
a harmonic which produces a reciprocal epicentric effect. Or in other words, it
reduces the user's physical dimensions to near zero and compensates by a
corresponding increase in density in its quasi-two-dimensional state."

            It sounded just as silly now as it did then,
Lafayette reflected. Still, it
had
worked. All he had to do, he
remembered clearly, was to orient the device with its long axis parallel with
his own, and the smooth face aligned with the widest plane of his body. He
adjusted the device as required, felt over the roughened surface, then found
and pressed the small bump at its center.

            Nothing changed. Lafayette stifled his
disappointment. The outfit had been dry-cleaned at least once since he had last
used the flat-walker, years before, and it was probably ruined. Too bad: it
would have been a big help. He raised a hand to brush away a cobweb that was
touching his face; the sensation of a gossamer touch persisted. Then he noticed
a faint glow in front of him —emanating from the stone wall? Suddenly excited,
Lafayette took a cautious step, and felt the almost impalpable sensation he
remembered from the last time he had walked through solid masonry.

            For a fleeting instant he glimpsed the misty
gray room, and Frumpkin's angular face shouting at him, "For the last
time!" Then, without transition, he was out of doors, smelling fresh air.
The sudden blaze of full sunlight dazzled him. He groped, feeling his way
across uneven turf.

            "Well, so you decided to come back and take
my offer after all!" Frodolkin's hearty voice boomed at him. Hard hands
clutched Lafayette's arms. He opened his eyes, saw that he was back in the
ragged clearing from which he had fled only minutes before.

            "You move good, kid," Iron-Head Mike
declared. "I din't even see you until you was halfway past that stretch of
wall. That's good. It's gonna be a big help to you when you get to the duke's
camp. When I seen the phantom arm come outa the door and haul you in, I
figgered you was done for. But I guess you know a few angles after all. Mike?
Help our pal to sit down and give him some eats; he looks beat."

            A hearty shove against his back sent O'Leary
stumbling forward until a foot hooked his ankle and he fell heavily.

            "Turn over, Bub," Mike's hoarse voice
commanded. "The boss wants you sitting, not laying," Lafayette turned
over and sat up. In the shade now, he was able, by squinting ferociously, to
see through the glare an unfamiliar patch of neglected garden stretching across
to a battered but intact granite wall, above which the tower reared up, intact,
but stripped of its ivy. He was in yet another locus, he realized with a stab
of panic. How would he ever find Aphasia II again, where poor little Daphne was
probably crying her eyes out, expecting him to appear at any moment to take her
home. He stood, ignoring Mike's yell: "I ain't told you to stand up, Bub!

            You wait right where you was, and I'll rustle ya
a peaner butter and sardine sarnidge and some good sweet port!"

            This new locus, O'Leary realized, was a close
relative of the one he had just left, differing largely in that it seemed just
a few stages less deteriorated. General Frodolkin, he saw, now wore a virtually
intact, though faded uniform. His beard had been trimmed and the rust was gone
from the sword blade. He was approaching, idly whacking at dandelion heads with
the weapon. As Mike drew back a booted leg to sweep Lafayette's feet from under
him, the latter dropped to a sitting position and promptly kicked Mike's knee,
causing the big fellow to collapse like a condemned tenement under the
wrecker's ball. As Mike snarled curses, Frodolkin came up, tsked mildly, and
ordered the fellow to abstain from furthur drinking on duty on pain of beheading,
a fate he dramatized by lopping a blossom from a wild-growing rose bush with a
quick sweep of his bared blade.

            "As for you, young fellow," he said,
turning his attention to O'Leary, "if by any chance you should fail in
your sacred mission, your fate will be no less dire, though slower."

            "Where's Marv?" O'Leary demanded,
ignoring the threat.

            "Oh, yes, poor Marv," the General
echoed. "I seem to recall that I turned him over to my PPS for a friendly
chat. Hark! That's him now, I don't doubt," he interrupted himself as
hoarse screams echoed from the middle distance.

            "Free him," Lafayette ordered.
"He's my partner, and he goes with me. By the way, where am I supposed to
find this Duke Bother-Be-Damned?"

            "Not at all a bad idea, O'Leary,"
Frodolkin said expansively. "I shall take it under advisement. Meanwhile,
I'll do as you suggest. Oh, Percy!" he concluded with a yell. There was a
crashing in the underbrush and a short, roly-poly fellow wearing a soiled
leather blacksmith's apron appeared, dashing sweat from his brow.

            "Yeah, boss?" he said in an anxious
tone, his small beady eyes flicking to O'Leary. "A new client, eh?

            Swell. Just gimme a minute to fan old Marv and
put Band-Aids on his hurties. He was a stubborn cuss, but he finely spilled the
beans. You better keep a eye out for a ruffian name of Old Eerie or Something,
which Marv says he's planning to pull one o' them cooze-like. You know, worm
his way inta yer worship's confidence, then turn the tables. Seems like he's
got a lotta magical gear stashed in the Tower yonder, which he can turn hisself
inta a big bird and all."

            "Thank you, Percy, a succinct report,"
the general replied blandly. "Now you may bring Marv into the presence.
Conscious, mind you." He turned a stern eye on Lafayette. "So," he
murmured, "you plot treachery, eh? You disappoint me, lad; I'd great plans
for you."

            "I haven't plotted anything."
Lafayette demurred. "I don't even know which way is up yet. All I want is
to find Daphne—but I don't suppose she's here anyway," he concluded
hopelessly.

            "I assure you, she is not," Frodolkin
said firmly. "You may as well abandon that fantasy. After your triumphal
return, you shall have second choice, after only myself, of the nubile wenches
of the region, which I hear the Duke's got a nice little seraglio of his
own."

            "I don't want a seraglio, I just want
Daphne," O'Leary replied doggedly. "And if I'm going to kidnap this
duke for you, I'd better get started." He rose, brushing leaf mold from
his seat. "Do I get any weapons or supplies?" he inquired, "or
do I just walk into his armed camp and bring him out barehanded and eat when I
get back?"

            "That's the idea, lad," Frodolkin
concurred smoothly. "I knew you'd know how to go about it. His camp is
sort of in that direction," he added, pointing vaguely. "I wouldn't
send a man out unbriefed," he explained. "Only about half a day's
walk, if you avoid the bog, of course."

            "Don't you think you ought to give me some
sort of ID?" Lafayette inquired, "so I don't get scragged by your own
troops along the way."

            "No need, Al. Just tell them you're under
my personal protection. But mind you stay clear of ambushes and the like."

            "And when I get back, you'll let me go back
into the Tower, right?" Lafayette specified, starting off uncertainly in
the direction indicated.

            "To be sure, dear boy," Frodolkin
agreed absently. "Though I, for one, couldn't be dragged in there by wild
Caucasian ponies. Still, I suppose you have your magical apparatus stored
there, eh?"

            "It's not that," Lafayette demurred,
heading for a trail which seemed to lead more or less in the direction
Frodolkin had indicated. "It's just that the lab's my sole link with
Artesia—and my only hope of getting back to wherever I left poor Daphne
stranded, with Central's help of course—unless Allegorus has other ideas. I don't
really trust that slicker. Well, bye, I'm off."