He trailed off. Interested smiles were fading. Adoranne tossed her head, turned and moved grandly away. The duchess was glaring at him like a mother tyrannosaurus surprising an early mammal sucking eggs.
"Adoranne, wait a minute! I can explain—" He caught Daphne's tear-brimmed eye.
"Come along, Lafayette," Nicodaeus tugged at his sleeve. "The joke didn't go over; these people are pretty stuffy about protocol."
"Daphne," O'Leary started. "I'm sorry—" The girl raised her head, looked past him. "I do not know you, sir," she said coldly, and turned away.
"Oh, dammit all!" O'Leary grimaced and let his arms fall at his sides. "I wish I'd never thought of the infernal dress in the first place."
There was a startled yelp from the duchess, a squeak from Daphne, a delighted roar from the males in the audience. Lafayette gasped and caught a fleeting glimpse of a curvaceous white flank as Daphne, clad only in silver slippers, a few bits of lace and blushes, vanished into the crowd, followed by a rising storm of applause.
"Oh, capital, old fellow!" A stout gentleman in deep red velvet slammed O'Leary's shoulder with a meaty hand. "Done with mirrors, I suppose?"
"Ah, Sir Lafayette, you are a sly fox!" boomed another appreciative oldster. The duchess sniffed, glared, stalked away.
"Where's Adoranne gone?" Lafayette rose on his toes, staring across heads.
"This wasn't exactly the kind of prank to impress her Highness with," Nicodaeus said. "You won't see her again this evening, my boy."
Lafayette let out a long sigh. "I guess you're right. Oh, well; the party's breaking up, anyway. Maybe in the morning I can explain."
"Don't even try," the magician advised.
Lafayette eyed him glumly. "I need some time to figure out a few things before I try any more good deeds," he said. "Maybe if I sleep on it—but on the other hand, if I go to sleep—"
"Never mind, my boy. She won't stay angry forever. Go along and get some rest now. There are a few things I want to discuss with you in the morning."
Back in his room, Lafayette waited while a soft-footed servant lit a candle. In the dim light he pulled off his clothes, used the washbasin to slosh water over his head and toweled off. He blew out the taper, then went to the four-poster, pulled back the blankets and clambered in with a grateful sigh.
Something warm and smooth cuddled up against him. With a muffled yelp he bounded from the bed and whirled to stare at the bright-eyed face and bare shoulder of Daphne, looking up tousle-headed from under the covers.
"Count Alain gave you an awful drubbing, didn't he, sir? Come along and I'll rub your back."
"Uh, thanks for dropping that, uh, missile on him," O'Leary started. "But—"
"Never mind that," Daphne said. "It was nothing. But your poor bruises . . ."
"Lucky for me he used the edge." Lafayette moved his arm gingerly. "It is pretty sore, at that. But what in the world are you doing here?"
She gave him an impish smile. "Where else could I go, milord, in my condition?"
"Well . . ." O'Leary froze, listening for a sound. It had been a stealthy sort of creak.
"Hssst!" the voice came from across the dark room. O'Leary tensed, remembering his sword, across the room on the floor in a heap with his clothes.
"Sir Lafayette, come quickly," the voice hissed. "It concerns the welfare of her Highness. Make no outcry! Secrecy is vital!"
"Who are you?" O'Leary demanded. "How did you get in here?"
"No time to talk! Hurry!" The voice was a throaty rasp, unfamiliar. Lafayette squinted, trying to get a glimpse of the intruder. "What's happened?"
"No more talk! Follow me or not, as you choose! There's not a moment to lose."
"All right; wait until I get my pants on . . ." He fumbled his way across to his clothes, pulled on breeches and a shirt, jammed his feet into shoes and caught up a short cloak.
"All right, I'm ready."
"This way!" Lafayette made his way across toward the sound of the voice. As he passed the bed, Daphne's hand reached out, tugged him down.
"Lafayette," she breathed in his ear, "you must not go! Perhaps it is a trick!"
"I've got to," he whispered back, equally quietly. "It's—"
"Who's that?" the voice snapped sharply. "To whom do you speak?"
"Nobody," Lafayette pulled free, went toward the voice. "I always mutter to myself when I don't know what's going on. Look here, is she all right?"
"You'll see."
A line of faint light showed against the wall and widened as a four-foot rectangle of paneling slid aside. A cloaked silhouette showed against it for a moment and then slipped past. O'Leary followed, barely able in the deep gloom to make out a narrow low-ceilinged passage and the stealthy figure of his guide. He cracked his head on a low beam, swore, scraped aside cobwebs that clung to his face. There was an odor of dust and stale air and mice; somewhere wind whined in a cranny in the wall.
The passage led more or less straight, with an occasional jog around a massive masonry column, then turned right, continued another fifty feet and dead-ended at a coarsely mortared brick wall.
"We go up here," the hoarse voice said shortly. Lafayette groped until he found rough wooden slats nailed to a vertical post against the wall. He went up, stepped off into a new passage and hurried after his guide. He tried to estimate his position in the palace. He was on the third floor, about halfway along the east wing.
Just ahead there was a soft creak, a faint rusty squeal. A hand caught his arm, thrust a coarse-textured sack into his hand—a sack heavy with something that clinked.
"Hey, what's—" A hearty shove thrust Lafayette violently forward. He stumbled, struck something with his shoulder, felt a rug underfoot now and caught a scent of delicate perfume. He whirled, heard a panel slam in his face; his hands scraped fruitlessly across a solid-seeming wall. There was a stir behind him in the room, a sharp cry, quickly cut off. O'Leary flattened himself, trying desperately to see through the darkness. Someone called in the next room. There were hurried footsteps; a door opened across the room, fanning soft light across a wedge of rich-patterned rug, a slice of brocaded wall, an arch of gilded ceiling. O'Leary saw a window with dainty ruffles, a vast canopied four-poster. A short, fat woman in a flounced nightcap puffed through the open door, holding a candle high.
"Your Highness! You cried out!"
Lafayette stood frozen, staring at a vision of bare-shouldered femininity sitting up in the huge bed, staring across at him in astonishment. The fat woman followed Adoranne's gaze, saw Lafayette, screeched, clapped a hand to her broad bosom and screeched again, louder.
"Shhh! It's only me!" Lafayette started forward, shushing the woman frantically; she yelled again and backed against the bed.
"Stay back, villain! Touch not one hair of her Highness's head—!"
"It's all a mistake." O'Leary indicated the wall through which he had entered. "Somebody came into my room and told
me—
"
There was a pounding of feet, a clash of steel. Two immense guardsmen in flaring helmets, polished breastplates and greaves thundered into the room, took one eye-popping look at Adoranne, who quickly pulled the pink silk sheet up to her chin.
"There!" screamed the fat lady-in-waiting, pointing with a plump finger. "A murderer! A ravisher! A thief in the night!"
"Let me explain how I happened to be here, fellows—" Lafayette broke off as the two men rushed him, pinned him against the wall with six-foot-long doubleheaded pikes at his chest. "It was all a mistake! I was in my room, asleep, and all of a sudden—"
"—you took it into your head to violate the boudoir of her Highness!" the fat woman finished for him. "Look at the great wretch, half-dressed, burning with unholy lust—"
"I was only—"
"Silence, dog," one of the pikemen grated between set teeth. "Who thinks to harm our princess begs for bloody vengeance!"
"Did he—did he—" The other guard was glaring at O'Leary with eyes like hot coals.
"The monster had no time to achieve his evil purpose," the chubby woman bleated. "I placed my own body between him and that of her Highness, offering it gladly if need be to save her Highness from this fiend!"
"Has he taken anything?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," O'Leary protested. "I'm no thief!" He waved his arms. "I—" The bag, still clutched in his hand, slammed the wall. He stared at it dumbly.
"What's he got there?" One of the men seized the sack, opened it, peered inside. Over his shoulder, Lafayette caught of glimpse of Adoranne, an expression of mischievous interest on her perfect features.
"Your Highness!" The man stepped to the bed and upended the contents of the pouch on the rosebud adorned coverlet—a sparkling array of rings, necklaces, bracelets, glinting red, green, diamond-white in the candle light.
The fat woman gasped. "Your Highness' jewels!" Lafayette made a move, felt the pike dig into his chest hard enough to draw blood. "Somebody shoved that into my hands," he called. "I was in the dark, in the passage, and—"
"Enough, thief!" the pike wielder snarled. "Move along now, you! I need little excuse to spit your gizzard!"
"Look, Adoranne, I was trying to help! He told me—"
"Who? Have you an accomplice in your felony?" The guard jabbed again to emphasize the question.
"No! I mean there was a man—a medium-sized man in a cloak; he came into my room—"
"How came the rogue here?" the fat woman shrilled. "Did you great louts sleep at your posts of duty?"
"I came in through some kind of sliding panel," O'Leary turned to the princess. "It's right over there. It closed up behind me, and—"
Adoranne's chin went up; she gave him a look of haughty contempt and turned away.
"I thank you, Martha," she said coolly to the fat lady-in-waiting. "And you, gentlemen, for your vigilance in my defenses. Leave me now."
"But, your Highness—" the fat woman started.
"Leave me!"
"Adoranne, if you'd just—" A painful prod in the solar plexus doubled O'Leary over. The pikemen caught his arms and hauled him from the room.
"Wait!" he managed. "Listen!"
"Tomorrow you can tell it to the headsman," the guard growled. "Another word outta you and by the three tails o'Goop I'll spare the crown the expense of an execution!"
In the corridor, Lafayette, still gasping, fixed his eye on the intersection ahead.
Just around the corner
, he improvised.
There's a . . . a policeman. He'll arrest these two
.
The pikemen shoved him roughly past the turn; the corridor was empty of cops. Too bad. Must be a spot he'd already seen and thus couldn't change.
But that door just ahead: it would open, and a python would come slithering out, and in the confusion
—
"Keep moving, you!" the pikeman pushed him roughly past the door, which failed to disgorge a snake.
A gun, then, in his hip pocket
—
He reached, found nothing. He should have known
that
one wouldn't work; he had just put the trousers on a few minutes earlier, and there had been no armaments bagging the pockets then—beside which, how could he concentrate with these two plug-uglies hauling at him? A sharp jerk at his arm directed him down another side way. He stumbled on, assisted by frequent jabs and blows, down stairs and more stairs, into a dim malodorous passage between damp stone walls, past an iron gate into a low chamber lit by smoking flambeaux in black iron brackets. He leaned against a wall, trying to decide which of his bruises hurt worst, while his pike-wielding acquaintance explained his case in a few terse words to an untrimmed lout with thick lips, pale stubble and pimples.
"One o' them guys, huh?" The turnkey nodded knowingly. "I know how to handle them kind."
"Wait . . . till I get my breath," O'Leary said. "I'll . . . visit you . . . with a plague of boils . . ."
A blow slammed him toward a barred gate. Hard hands hustled him through to a moldy oak-plank door. Keys jangled. The blond jailer cuffed him aside and hauled the door open with a rasp of dry hinges. O'Leary caught a glimpse of a stone floor and a litter of rubbish.
Damn! If he'd just thought to picture something a trifle cozier, before he saw it.
"Kind of crummy quarters fer a dude like youse, Buster," the turnkey leered. "You got straw, but I'll give ye a clue: Use the bare floor instead. We got a few fleas and stuff, you know?" Then a foot in the seat sent O'Leary spinning inside and the door thudded behind him.
O'Leary sat on the floor, blinking into total blackness. Some day he'd have to read up on Freudian dream symbolism. All this business of stumbling around in the dark being beaten by large men must be some sort of punishment wish, probably arising from guilt feelings due to the Adoranne and Daphne sequences—particularly the former.
O'Leary got to his feet, felt his way to a wall, made a circuit of the cell. There were no windows, unless they were above his reach; and just the one door, massive and unyielding. He heard a furtive scuttling. Rats, no doubt. Not a very nice place to spend the rest of his dream. He sighed, regretting again he had been too rattled to provide a few amenities before it was too late. But perhaps he could still manage something . . .
Light, first. A candle would do. He pictured a two-inch stub lying among the litter in the far corner . . . and a match in his pocket.
There was a thump, as though the universe had gone over a tar strip in the road. O'Leary groped among odds and ends, felt straw, small bones—and a greasy lump of wax with a stub of a wick. Aha! Now for a match. In his pocket, a small item like that could have passed unnoticed. He checked, felt the smooth cover of a match folder, pulled it out and lit up. The candle burned with a feeble yellow flame, its light confirming his first impression of the cramped cell. Well, that part couldn't be helped, but it would be wise to think carefully about his next move.
O'Leary settled himself on the driest spot on the floor. It looked as though he were stuck here unless he could manage to regain the sanctuary of his room back at Mrs. MacGlint's house. The last two tries hadn't worked out, but then that was to be expected. After all, who could focus the Psychic Energies with someone hauling him toward a paddy-wagon or threatening to stick a foot of razor-edged steel into his internal arrangements?