"Who would gain by the disappearance of her Highness? Someone with ambitions of usurpation, someone close to the throne, someone unsuspected," Nicodaeus mused. "Could it be one of Goruble's painted dandies?"
"Lod is the one who had his eye on the throne—and a yen for Adoranne, too. Maybe Alain—but somehow he strikes me as honest, in his blundering way. Then there's you—but for some reason I believe your story. But I'd still like to know who spread the word that I'd been here. They were staked out at the city gates, waiting for me. Are you sure you didn't spill the beans?"
"I assure you, I was discretion itself. Even King Goruble . . ." Nicodaeus paused, looking thoughtful.
"What about Goruble?" O'Leary said sharply.
"I had a few words with his Majesty, just after you were here. He questioned me closely. I wondered at the time what he was hinting at; he appeared to suspect I'd been shielding you."
"Did you tell him I'd been here?"
"No . . . and yet, now that you mention it, he seemed to know . . ." Nicodaeus' eyes were round. "Great heavens, Lafayette! Do you suppose? But how could it be? I've been looking for someone, an outsider—but the king—"
"Lod said someone who
wanted
to take over the throne; Goruble already has it."
Nicodaeus frowned. "In these cases there's usually some individual—often a renegade agent of Central, I confess—who sees his chance to establish himself comfortably in a subtechnical environment and make himself dictator. To which Central would have no particular objection, if it weren't for the resultant chain of anomalies. But it never occurred to me—"
" . . . that he'd already taken over," O'Leary finished for him. "I don't know much about the history of Artesia, but from a few hints dropped here and there, I've gotten the impression King Goruble is far from beloved, and that he came to power some twenty-odd years ago under rather vague circumstances."
"I've been blind!" Nicodaeus exclaimed. "I've never tested him, of course. Who would have suspected the king? But it fits, Lafayette! It fits! He had the opportunity. He could walk into the princess's apartment without an alarm, lure her away, then presto—pop her into a locked room, and raise the outcry!"
"But what for? She's his niece."
"Not if our theory is correct, lad! He's an outsider, an interloper, a usurper, with no more claim to the throne than you! And Adoranne, as the niece of the previous king, represents a very real threat to his security—particularly since he is himself unpopular, while the masses adore the princess!"
"Then
he
was the one who was doing business with Lod—the plotter in the palace!" O'Leary nibbled at his lip. "But hold it, Nicodaeus. There's one big flaw in the picture: Lod—from what I could guess—was brought in from . . . somewhere else. One of these other continua of yours, I'd say. The same goes for that dinosaur he kept in his front yard. And his HQ itself—it looked like something that had been plucked up by the roots and dumped in the desert for Lod's use. The plotter we're looking for was using Lod as a diversion, to keep the people's minds off his own power grab, and the fancy quarters and the personal dragon were part of the bargain. But the only one around here with outside resources—is
you!
"
"Me? But Lafayette! I'm an inspector! I can't go moving buildings and tyrannosauri about at will! My workshop here suffices for a few modest surveillance instruments, nothing more! You're forgetting that our culprit was himself an outsider. If he transported himself here, why couldn't he have manipulated the rest?"
"You're still holding out on me, Nicodaeus. What about your
real
workshop? I saw some pretty big machines down there; they aren't just for checking suspects' vibrations."
"Real workshop? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Lafayette."
"In the cellar—the big room with the iron door, and the smaller room that looks like a walk-in refrigerator."
"Like . . . like . . .?" Nicodaeus' eyes bugged. "Lafayette—did you say—walk-in refrigerator?"
"Yes, and—"
"With a large door—with a big latch mechanism, like this?" He sketched in the air.
"Right. What's it for?"
Nicodaeus groaned. "I fear, Lafayette, we'll not see Adoranne again. The device you describe is a Traveler—used to transport small cargoes from one coordinate level to another. I was dropped here in one, and expect, in due course, to be picked up by another. If Goruble had one here—a stolen vehicle belonging to Central, no doubt—then I fear Adoranne is already beyond our reach."
"You really think Goruble's our man?"
"None other. Alas, Lafayette, she was such a charming girl."
"Maybe it's not too late," O'Leary snapped. "Come on, we'll pay a call on His Majesty—and this time I won't be bluffing!"
The red-faced sergeant of the guard spotted them as they stepped off the main stairway at the third floor. He gave a yell and dashed up, gun in hand.
"Hold, my man!" Nicodaeus called. "I'm taking Sir Lafayette to interview his Majesty on a matter concerning the security of the realm! Kindly call your men in as an honor guard!"
"Honor guard?" The noncom raised his musket threateningly, "I'll honor-guard the louse, kidnapping our princess."
"I didn't," O'Leary cut in, "but I think I know who did. If you want to shoot me before I can tell, go ahead."
The sergeant hesitated. "Better lay down that ax, buster. Drop it right there."
"I'm keeping it," O'Leary said shortly. "Come with us or stay here, I don't care which, but don't get in my way." He turned, strode off toward the royal quarters. Behind him, after a moment of hesitation, there was a curse and a snapped order to fall in. A moment later the ten-man detail closed in around Lafayette and Nicodaeus, guns ready, eyes rolling ominously at the pair.
"Better not try nothing," the nearest man muttered. "I got a yen to clear my barrel."
O'Leary halted at the door to the king's chambers, ignoring the two gaping sentries. He tried the elaborate gold knob, pushed the door wide.
"Hey, you can't—" someone gasped.
"All right, Goruble, come on out!" O'Leary called. He looked around at cloth-of-gold hangings, high windows, rich rugs, spindle-legged furniture with the gleam of rare wood. The room was empty. He walked across to an inner door, threw it wide; it was an ornate bath, with a sunken tub and gold fittings.
The next door let into a vast bedroom with a canopied bed looking like a galleon under full sail. O'Leary checked two more rooms, Nicodaeus at his side, the troop of soldiers following, silent, awed by this rude invasion of the royal privacy.
"He's not here," Nicodaeus said as O'Leary prodded the hanging clothes in the closet of the last room.
"But—he's got to be here," a guardsman said. "He couldn'a left without we knew about it; after all, we're the royal bodyguard."
"I think I might know where he went," O'Leary said. "I'll go check."
"You ain't going no place, bud." The sergeant stepped forward to assert his damaged authority. "I'm taking you down to the dungeons, and when his Majesty shows up—"
"Sorry, no time." O'Leary brought the butt of the ax up in a swipe from the floor, caught the sergeant under the third button; he oofed and doubled over. O'Leary tossed the ax, handle-first, at the man behind him, straight-armed the next, ran for the door, whirled and slammed it behind him. There were shouts and loud thuds as he turned the key in the lock. In three jumps he was across the room, pulling aside the drapes that framed a portrait of the king as a frowning youth. He slapped panels; a section of wall tilted outward. He slipped through, clicked it shut behind him, turned—and froze at a scraping sound from the darkness.
"Nice footwork, O'Leary," the cavernous voice of Yokabump said. "I kind of figured you'd be taking to the woodwork soon. Where you headed?"
"I'm glad you're here," O'Leary said tensely. "You remember the rooms in the cellar? The ones with all the big machines?"
"Oh, you mean old Goruble's thinking rooms. Sure. What about 'em?"
"I need to get down there—fast!"
"Maybe you better stay clear o' that section for a while. The old boy himself walked right past me in the dark, not an hour ago, headed in the same direction—and I'd say he was in a lousy mood."
"An hour ago? Then maybe there's a chance! Come on, Yokabump! Lead the way as fast as you can, and hope it's fast enough!"
The polished slab door was closed tight as O'Leary came softly up to it, his tread muffled by the carpet of dust in the narrow passage.
"He's still in there," Yokabump whispered. There was a sound like a dynamo growling to a halt. "His footprints go in, and don't come out."
"You must have eyes like a cat," O'Leary said. "It's all I can do to see where I'm going." He put his ear to the door. Silence.
O'Leary narrowed his eyes. There was a keyhole, just there, near the edge, he told himself; a small inconspicuous aperture. And the key—it would be hanging from a nail on the beam . . .
There was the faintest of bumps in the smooth flow of the timestream. O'Leary smiled grimly, groped over the rough-hewn member, found the tiny key.
"Hey, O'Leary!" Yokabump rumbled. "How'd you know that was there?"
"Shhhh." O'Leary quietly fitted the key into the door; there was a tiny click. He leaned against the door; it swung silently inward, revealing the dim-lit interior of the room, the massed dials and indicator lights, the tall shapes of the massive equipment housings, the festooned conduits and, in the center of the room, King Goruble, seated in a chair, holding a compactly built machine gun across his knees.
"Come right in, Sir Lafayette," Goruble said grimly. "I've been awaiting you."
O'Leary gauged the distance to the rotund monarch. If he jumped to one side, then hit him low—
"I wouldn't recommend it," Goruble said. "I'm quite adept at the use of firearms. Come away from the door. I don't want you to be tempted. Just take a chair there." The king nodded to a seat beside the panel. O'Leary moved across, sat down gingerly, his legs under him, ready to move fast when the moment came.
"You look a trifle uncomfortable," Goruble said. His voice was hard. "Just lean back, if you please, and stretch your legs out. That way I think you'll be less likely to attempt anything foolish."
O'Leary followed orders. This was a new Goruble; the theories that had seemed farfetched minutes before were taking on a new plausibility. The small eyes that stared at him now were those of a man capable of anything.
"Where's Adoranne?" O'Leary demanded abruptly.
"Speak when spoken to," Goruble said harshly. "There are a few facts I want from you—before I make disposition of you."
"With that?" O'Leary glanced at the gun.
"Nothing so gory—unless you force me to, of course, in which case I can put up with the inconvenience. No, I'll merely remove you to a place where you can cause me no trouble."
"And what place would that be?"
"Don't bother your head about that," Goruble retorted coldly. "Now, tell me how much you know. If I find you holding back, I'll consign you to a certain small island I know of—capable of sustaining life, but not offering much in the way of amusements. But for each fact you confide in me, I'll add another amenity to your exile."
"I think I know the place you mean, but I didn't like it there, so I left—if you'll recall." O'Leary watched the stout ruler for a reaction to the shot in the dark. Goruble's mouth twitched in a frown.
"This time you'll have no confederate to snatch you back. Now, kindly start your recital. How much is known at Central?"
O'Leary considered and rejected a number of snappy answers. "Enough," he said after the momentary pause.
"You, I take it, are fully in the confidence of Nicodaeus. How did he discover your identity?"
"I told him," O'Leary hazarded.
"Ah." Goruble looked crafty. "And how did you discover your identity?"
"Someone told me," O'Leary replied promptly.
Goruble's brow furrowed. "I suggest you speak plainly!" he rapped. "Tell me all you know!"
O'Leary said nothing.
"You'd best discover your tongue at once," Goruble snapped. "Remember, I have it in my power to make it highly uncomfortable for you—or, on the other hand, to leave you in a situation of comparative ease."
O'Leary was studying the half-open door of a cabinet on the wall behind the king. If there should be a small glass container lying just inside—and if it should be on its side, ready to roll out—and if there should be just the slightest jar, such as a sneeze . . .
"Surely you're not childish enough to imagine that you can distract me by eyeing some imaginary intruder behind me," Goruble smiled sourly. "I'm . . ." his nose twitched. "I'm far too . . . tooo . . ." He drew a sharp breath, blasted out a titanic sneeze, then grabbed for the gun, brought it back on target.
"It requires bore thad a bere sdeeze to distragd be." He fumbled for a handkerchief in his breast pocket. "I'm quite accustomed to the dust in these unused ways."
There was a soft creak as the cabinet door stirred in the faint gust of air raised by Goruble's explosion. Light glinted for an instant on something on the dark shelf; an eight-ounce beaker rolled into view, dropped—
At the impact of glass against concrete, Goruble leaped from the chair. The gun went off with a shattering roar, stitched a row of craters across the floor, blasted tufts of cotton from the chair seat as O'Leary dived from it, slamming Goruble aside with a shoulder. He snatched the gun as it flew from the king's hands and whirled, centered the sights on the monarch's paunch.
"Nice weapon," he said. "I'll bet a few of these made a lot of difference, back when you were stealing the throne."
Goruble made an unpleasant, snarling noise.
"Sit down over there," O'Leary ordered. "Now, let's cut the chatter. Where's Adoranne?" He was fingering the unfamiliar stock of the weapon, wondering which projecting button was the trigger. If Goruble had another gun stashed, and went for it now . . .
"Look here, you utter fool," Goruble snapped. "You don't know what you're doing."