Goruble poked O'Leary's chest. "Cast aside your doubts, Sir Lafayette! That part is simplicity itself. Less than an hour ago I dispatched a set of specifications to our mutual friends at the Ajax Specialty Works, and expect delivery of a functioning Traveler in a matter of days."
"You're going to be disappointed. Your credit's shot. They won't deliver."
"Indeed?" Goruble/Krupkin purred, fingering a large jewel pinned to his collar. "I have reason to expect the early acquisition of new resources, courtesy of my good friend Duke Rodolpho. As for the possible animosity of the Artesians—I feel sure it will dissipate as the morning mist before a public declaration by Princess Adoranne that the previous canards spread regarding me were a tissue of lies homologated by enemies of the state; that I am in fact her sole benefactor, and that she wishes to relinquish the crown to me as an older and wiser monarch, solely out of her selfless concern for the well-being of the state."
"She'll never do it," O'Leary declared flatly.
"Perhaps not," Goruble said calmly, nodding. He poked O'Leary again, as one imparting the punch line of a joke. "But the wench Swinehild will."
"What's Swinehild got to do with it . . ." O'Leary's voice trailed off. "You mean—you intend to use her to impersonate Adoranne?" He smiled pityingly. "Wake up, Goruble; Swinehild's a nice kid, but she'd never fool anyone."
Goruble turned, barked an order at Groanwelt. The P.P.S. went to the door, thrust his head out, passed on the command. There was a stir of feet. Groanwelt stepped back, gaping, then executed a sweeping bow as a slim, dainty figure entered the room hesitantly. Lafayette stared openmouthed at the vision of feminine enchantment who stood there, gowned, jeweled, perfumed, elegant, her golden hair a gleaming aura about her perfect face.
"P-Princess Adoranne!" he gulped. "Wha—how—"
"Lafe! Are you O.K., sugar?" Swinehild's familiar voice inquired worriedly.
"I confess we need to do a little work on her diction before she makes her public appearance," Goruble said blandly. "But that's a mere detail."
"Swinehild—you wouldn't help this fiend with his dirty schemes—would you?" O'Leary implored.
"He . . . he said if I didn't—he'd slice you up into sandwich meat, Lafe—so—"
"Enough! Take her away!" Goruble roared, red-faced. He whirled on O'Leary as Groanwelt bowed Swinehild out.
"The doxy is merely attempting to save face," he snarled. "She leaped at the chance to play princess, as well she might, kitchen slavey that she is! To sleep on silken sheets, dine from dishes of gold—"
"And what about the real Adoranne?"
"There appears to be a certain symmetry in these matters of intercontinual transfer," Goruble said with a foxy smile. "The former princess will find herself here in Melange in the role of scullery wench, a fitting comeuppance in return for her arrogant assumption of my throne." Goruble rubbed his hands together. "Yes, you opened new vistas, lad, once I realized you were who you are. My original plan in decoying the Lady Andragorre into my hands was designed merely to place me in an advantageous position, trump-wise, vis-à-vis Rodolpho, who'd been recalcitrant in seeing the wisdom of my plans. But now wide vistas open. She'll be a useful pawn in the vast new game I'll play, as will the feckless Rodolpho, lending their countenances to my pronouncements. And you, too, have your little role to perform." His face hardened. "Assist me—willingly—and you'll retain your comfortable Artesian sinecure as palace hanger-on. Refuse, and I'll arrange a fate for you to make strong men shudder!"
"You've lost what wits you ever had if you think I'd help you with your miserable plot!"
"So? A pity. I had in mind that after their usefulness to me had ended, I might hand the females along to you to use as you will. But in your absence, alas, I fear they'll end up in the harem of some more devoted servant."
"You wouldn't!"
"Oh, but I would." Goruble wagged a finger. "That's the true secret of success, my boy: total ruthlessness. I've learned my lesson now. Had I disposed of the infant Princess Adoranne in the beginning—and of a certain infant Prince Lafayette as well—none of this unfortunate business would have occurred."
"I won't help you," Lafayette gulped. "Do you worst. Central will catch up with you and—"
Goruble laughed. "That's the true beauty of the plan, my dear boy! I admit that for long the threat of Central's meddling inhibited the free play of my imagination—but the new equation of power renders that prospect nugatory. The reciprocal transfer of personnel will maintain the net energy equations; there will be no imbalance in the probability matrix, nothing to attract Central's attention to peaceful Artesia, one locus among a myriad. No, look for no assistance from that direction. As a former inspector of continua, please be assured that I know whereof I speak. Now, be sensible: throw in with me, and share in the rewards of success."
"Go hang yourself," O'Leary suggested sharply. "Without me, Swinehild will never cooperate—and without her, the whole thing flops."
"As you will." Goruble smiled a crafty smile. "My offer to you was based on sentiment, my lad, nothing more. I have more than one string to my bow—or should I say more than one beau to my string?"
"You're bluffing," Lafayette said. "You talk about using Lady Andragorre to impersonate Daphne—but I happen to know she got away clean!"
"Did she?" Goruble yawned comfortably, turned to Groanwelt. "By the way, my man," he said. "It won't be necessary to extract the whereabouts of the Lady Andragorre from this treacher. She and her companion were nabbed half an hour ago, and will be arriving within minutes. Just throw him in the pit with Gorog the Voracious, who I'm informed hasn't been fed for several days, and will appreciate a good meal."
"The breaks of the game, buddy," Groanwelt said sorrowfully as he led Lafayette, chains clanking, along the dim passage. "I got enemies around this place, that's plain to see. Me, a inoffensive guy that never stepped on a toe in his life except in line o' duty. But that goes to show you what years o' faithful service do for a guy." He peered through the inch-thick bars of a vast, barred door. "Good; he's in his den, sleeping. I won't have to use the electric prod to keep him back while I slip you in. I hate to be cruel to dumb beasts, you know?"
"Listen, Groanwelt," Lafayette said hastily, recoiling from the dank odor and the bone-littered straw of the monster's cage. "In view of our long-standing relationship, couldn't you see your way clear to just slip me out the back way? I mean, the duke need never know—"
"And leave Gorog miss another meal? I'm ashamed o' you, pal. The suggestion does youse no credit."
The P.P.S. unlocked the door, swung it open just far enough to admit O'Leary, whom he helped forward with a hand like a winepress clamped to his shoulder. Lafayette dug in his heels, but Groanwelt's thrust propelled him into the noisome cage and the door clanged behind him.
"So long, kid," the P.P.S. said, resecuring the lock. "You would have been a swell client. Too bad I never really got to the nitty wit' you." As his footsteps died away, a low, rumbling growl sounded from the dark opening cut in the side wall of the den. Lafayette whirled to face the mouth of the lair, a ragged arch wide enough to pass a full-grown tiger. A pair of bleary, reddish eyes glinted from the deep gloom there. A head thrust forth—not the fanged visage of a cat or a bear, but a low-browed, tangle-haired subhuman face, smeared with dirt and matted with black stubble. The low, rumbling growl sounded again.
"Excuse me," a hoarse, bass voice said. "I ain't eaten in so long my insides is starting to chew on theirselfs."
O'Leary backed. The head advanced, followed by massive shoulders, a barrellike torso. The huge creature stood, dusted off its knees, eyeing Lafayette speculatively.
"Hey," the deep voice rumbled. "I know you! You're the guy was with the cute little trick that laid me out with a oar!"
"Crunch!" Lafayette gasped. "How—how did you get here? I thought this was the den of Gorog the Voracious . . ."
"Yeah, that's the name I usta fight under. The duke's boys picked me up on a bum rap when I come looking for ya. I cleaned up a couple blocks o' city street with the slobs, but after a while I got tired and they felled me with a sneak attack from bot' flanks at oncet, plus they dropped a cannonball on my dome." The giant fingered the back of his massive skull tenderly.
"L-looking for me?" O'Leary was backed against the wall; his breath seemed to be constricted by a bowling ball that had dropped into his throat. "W-whatever for?"
"I got a little score to settle with you, chum. And I ain't a guy to leave no unfinished business laying around."
"Look here, Crunch, I'm the sole support of twin maiden aunts," O'Leary stated in a voice with a regrettable tendency to break into a falsetto. "And after all I've been through, it wouldn't be fair for it all to end here, like this!"
"End? Heck, bub, this is just the beginning," Crunch growled. "A score like I got with you'll take a while to pay off."
"What did I do to deserve this?" O'Leary groaned.
"It ain't what you done, sport, it's what you didn't do."
"Didn't do?"
"Yeah. You didn't put me over the side o' the boat when you had the chanct. I was groggy but still listening; I heard the little dolly make the suggestion, which you nixed it on account of you didn't think it was cricket to toss a unconscious guy to the sharks."
"So this is my r-reward?"
"Right, palsy." The giant put a hand to his midriff as his stomach emitted another volcanic growl. "Boy, I ain't had a good feed in a bear's age."
Lafayette squeezed his eyes shut. "All right," he gasped. "Hurry up and get it over with before I lose my nerve and start yelling to Groanwelt that I've changed my mind . . ."
"Get what over with, feller?"
"E-eating me." Lafayette managed to force the words out.
"Me—eat you?" Crunch echoed. "Hey, you got me wrong, pal. I wouldn't eat no guy which he saved my neck like you done."
O'Leary opened one eye. "You mean—you're not going to tear me limb from limb?"
"Why would I wanta do a thing like that?"
"Never mind," Lafayette said, sinking down to the floor with a deep sigh of relief. "Some subjects are better left uninvestigated." He drew a deep breath and pulled himself together, looked up at the tall figure peering down at him concernedly.
"Look—if you want to do me a favor, let's start by figuring out a way out of here."
Crunch scratched at his scalp with a forefinger the size of a hammer handle.
"Well, lessee . . ."
"We might try to tunnel through the wall," O'Leary said, poking at the mortar between the massive stone blocks. "But that would take steel tools and several years." He scanned the dark interior of the cell. "There might be a trapdoor in the ceiling . . ."
Crunch shook his head. "I been ducked under that ceiling for a week. It's solid oak, four inches thick."
"Well . . . maybe the floor . . ."
"Solid rock, six inches thick."
Lafayette spent ten minutes examining floor, walls, and door. He leaned disconsolately against the bars. "I may as well admit it," he said. "I'm licked. Krupkin will force Swinehild to do his bidding, Adoranne will wind up scraping grease off pots here in Port Miasma, Goruble will take over Artesia, and Daphne—Daphne will probably be dumped here when Lady Andragorre goes to Artesia, and if Rodolpho doesn't get her, Lorenzo the Lucky—or is it Lancelot the Lanky?—will."
"Hey—I got a idear," Crunch said.
"Just lie down and take a nap, Crunch," O'Leary said listlessly. "There's nothing else to do."
"Yeah, but—"
"It's just self-torture to go on thinking about it. Maybe the best bet would be for you to disassemble me after all."
"Hey, how's about if—"
"I should have known it would end up here. After all, I've been bouncing in and out of jails ever since I got to Melange; it was inevitable that I'd end in one eventually."
"I mean, it ain't a fancy scheme, but what the heck," Crunch said.
"What scheme?" O'Leary inquired dully.
"What I was trying to tell you. My plan."
"All right. Tell me."
"Well, what I was thinking—but naw, I guess you want something with a little more class—like with secret tunnels and all."
"You may as well get it off your chest, Crunch."
"Well, I'm just spitballing, mind youse—but, ah, how's about if I rip the door off its hinges?"
"If you ri—" Lafayette turned to gaze at the massive welded-steel construction. He laughed hollowly.
"Sure, go ahead."
"O.K." Crunch stepped past him, gripped the thick bars. He set his size seventeens, took a deep breath, and heaved. There was a tentative screech of metal, followed by sharp snapping sounds. A lump of stone popped from the wall and dropped to the floor. With a rending sound comparable to that which might be produced by two Rolls-Royces sideswiping each other, the grating buckled, bent inward, and tore free of its mountings. Crunch tossed it aside with a deafening crash and wiped his palms on the seat of his leather pants.
"Nothing to it, chum," he said. "What's next?"
There was no one in the torture chamber when Lafayette, freed of his manacles by a deft twist of Crunch's wrists, and his large companion made their way there along the torchlit passage, past cells through the barred doors of which wild-haired and wild-eyed inmates gaped, gibbered, or grabbed.
"That's bad," Lafayette said. "I was counting on Groanwelt helping us."
"Hey, this is kinda cute," Crunch said, hefting a set of razor-edged cutters designed for trimming up ears and noses. "I been needing some cuticle scissors."
"Listen, Crunch, we need a plan of action," O'Leary said. "It won't do us any good to just go blundering out of here and wind up back in chains. The palace is swarming with guards, Rodolpho's regular staff plus Goruble's strongarm squad. We need a diversion—something to distract attention while I sneak in and whisk Swinehild and Lady Andragorre out from under his nose."
"Hey!" a reedy voice yelled from a side passage. "I demand a lawyer! I want to see the American consul! I have a right to make a phone call!"