"Gizelle, go bake a pizza!" the old man roared. "Theese is none of your beezness! Theese cowardly peeg, he dies!"
"Eet ees too!" she wailed defiantly. "Theese ees the cowardly peeg I love!"
"
Zut alors
!" Shosto yelled. "You . . . and theese four-flusher! Theese viper een my bosom! Theese upstart! Never weel he have you!"
"Zorito!" she wailed. "Don't you remember how I steetched all those secret pockets for you, and how you were going to feel theem weeth goodies? Don't you have one leetle souvenir of your treep to show theem?"
"Secret pockets?" Shosto rumbled. "What's theese nonsense?"
"Een his sleeves!" Gizelle seized Lafayette's cuff, turned it back, explored with her brown fingers. With a yelp of delight she drew forth a slim, silvery watch dangling from a glittering chain.
"You see? Zorito, my hero!" As she flung her arms around Lafayette's neck, Shosto grabbed the watch, stared at it.
"Hey!" the man called Luppo blurted. "You can stuff me for an owl eef that eesn't the solid platinum watch of the Lord Mayor of Artesia Ceety!"
"Where deed you get theese?" Shosto demanded.
"Why, I, ah . . ." Lafayette faltered.
"He stole eet, you brute," Gizelle cried. "What do you theenk, he bought eet een a pawnshop?"
"Well, Shosto, eet looks like Zorro fooled you theese time," someone spoke up.
"He not only leefted the Lord Mayor's watch—but what an actor!" another said admiringly. "I would have sworn he deedn't have the proverbial weendow to throw eet out of—and all the while he had the beegest heist of the decade stashed een hees coat lining!"
"Come on, Shosto—be a sport!" another challenged. "Admeet he has made the team!"
"Well—maybe I geev heem another chance." Shosto dealt himself a blow on the chest that would have staggered a lesser man, grinned a sudden, flashing grin. "Ten thousand thundering devils on a teen roof!" he roared. "Theese ees an occasion for celebration! We proceed weeth the loafing and dreenking as planned! Too bad we have to do weethout the diversion of the Death of the Thousand Hooks," he added, with a regretful glance at Lafayette. "But I can always reschedule eet, eef he doesn't treat my leetle Gizelle right!" He gestured grandly and the men holding Lafayette released him.
The Wayfarers gathered around him, slapping him on the back and pumping his hand. Someone struck up a tune on a concertina; others joined in. Jugs appeared, to be passed from hand to hand. As soon as he could, Lafayette disengaged himself, used the green handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
"Thanks very much," he said to Gizelle. "I, uh, appreciate your speaking up for me, miss."
She hugged his arm, looked up at him with a flashing smile. Her eyes were immense, glistening dark, her nose delightfully retroussé, her lips sweetly curved, her cheeks dimpled.
"Theenk nothing of it, Zorito. After all, I couldn't let theem cut you in beets, could I?"
"I'm glad somebody around here feels that way. But I still have the problem of getting home. Could I arrange to borrow a horse—just overnight, of course—"
A burst of laughter from the gallery greeted this request. Gizelle compressed her lips, took Lafayette's arm possessively.
"You are a beeg joker, Zorito," she said sternly; then she smiled. "But eet ees no matter; I love you anyway! Now—on weeth the festeevities!" She seized his hand and whirled him away toward the sound of music.
2
It was three hours later. The twenty-gallon punch-tank contained only half an inch of pulpy dregs; the roast ox had been stripped to the bones. The musicians had long since slid, snoring, under their benches. Only a few determined drinkers still raised raucous voices in old Wayfarer songs. Gizelle had disappeared momentarily on some personal errand. It was now or never.
Lafayette put down the leathern cup he had been nursing, eased silently back into the shadows. No one called after him. He crossed a moonlit strip of grassy meadow, waited again in the shelter of the trees. The drunken song continued undisturbed. He turned and slipped away between the trees.
A hundred feet up the trail, with the sounds and smells of the celebration already lost in the spicy scent of pine and the soughing of wind through the heavy boughs, Lafayette halted, peering back down-trail for signs of followers. Seeing no one, he tiptoed off the trail, setting a direct course for the capital—about ten miles due south, he estimated. A long hike, but well worth it to get clear of this bunch of maniacs. Little Gizelle was the only sane person in camp—and even she had some serious hang-ups. Well, he'd send her a nice memento once he was safely back in town; a string of beads say, or possibly a party dress. It would be nice to see her dolled up. He pictured her garbed in formal court wear, with jewels in her hair and her fingernails polished, and just a touch of perfume back of the ear.
"I might even invite her down to a rout or ball," he mused. "She'd be a sensation, cleaned up a little; she might even meet some nice young fellow who'd put a ring on her finger, and—"
Ducking under a low-spreading branch, Lafayette halted, frowning at a large pair of boots visible under a bush. His gaze traveled upward along a matching pair of legs, surmounted by the torso and unfriendly features of Luppo, standing fists on hips, smiling crookedly down at him.
"Looking for sometheeng, Zorro?" the big man growled in his husky voice.
"I was just taking a little constitutional," Lafayette said, getting to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Eef I was the suspeeciuos type," Luppo growled, "I might theenk you were trying to sneak out on my seester like a feelthy double-crossing rat."
With a muttered "Hmphff," Lafayette turned and made his way back down the path, followed by the big tribesman's sardonic chuckle. Judging that he had put sufficient distance between himself and Luppo, he picked a spot where the undergrowth thinned, again left the path, striking off to the left. A dense stand of brambles barred his path; he angled uphill to avoid it, crawled under a clump of thorn, scaled an outcropping of rock, turned to take his bearings, and saw a large man named Borako leaning against a tree, casually whittling a stick. The Wayfarer looked up, spat.
"Another shortcut?" he inquired with a sly smile.
"Actually," Lafayette said haughtily, "I thought I spotted a rare variety of coot over this way."
"Not a coot," Borako said. "A wild goose, I theenk."
"Well, I can't stand here nattering," Lafayette said loftily. "Gizelle will be wondering where I am."
He made his way back down into camp, Borako's boots clumping behind him. Gizelle met him as he reached the clearing.
"Zorito! Come! Eet's time to get ready for the wedding."
"Oh, is someone getting married?" Lafayette said. "Well, I'm sure it will be a jolly occasion, and I appreciate the invitation, but—" His remonstrances were cut short as Gizelle threw her arms around his neck.
"Uh—Gizelle," he started, "there's something I should tell you—"
"Zorito! Stop talking! How can I keess you?"
"Are you sure you know me well enough?" He temporized as she clung to him.
"Eet ees an old tribal custom," she murmured, nibbling his ear, "to sneak a leetle sample of the goods before buying . . ."
"Buying?" Lafayette stalled. "You mean stealing, don't you?"
Gizelle giggled. "Sure—you get the idea. Come on." She caught his hand and pulled him toward her wagon. As they approached it, a large man stepped forth from the shadows.
"Well—what do you want, you beeg bum?" Gizelle said spiritedly, with a toss of her head.
"The Ancient Law don't say notheeng about geeving the veectim a beeg smooch before the wedding," the man said sullenly.
"So—what's eet to you, Borako?"
"You know I got the hots for you, Gizelle!"
"Get lost, you," Lafayette spoke up. "Can't you see you're disturbing the lady?"
"You want to come out een the alley and say that?" Borako demanded, stepping forward truculently.
"No!" Gizelle cried, hurling herself at him; he knocked her roughly aside.
"Here!" Lafayette exclaimed. "You can't do that!"
"Let's see you stop me!" Borako yanked the broad knife from his belt, advanced on Lafayette in a crouch. As he slashed out with the blade, Lafayette leaned aside, clamped a complicated two-handed grip on the man's wrist and with a heave, levered him over his hip. Borako executed a flip and landed heavily on his jaw and lay still, while the knife went skittering across the grass.
"Zorito! My hero!" Gizelle squealed, throwing her arms around Lafayette's neck. "For a meenute there I theenk eet ees all over! But you protected me, at the reesk of your life! You
do
love me, my hero!"
"You did the same for me," Lafayette mumbled, his vocal apparatus somewhat encumbered by the kisses of the grateful girl. "That was queek theenking—I mean, quick thinking—"
"Aha—you sleeped! You forgot your phony accent!" Gizelle hugged him tighter. "Frankly, I was begeening to wonder a leetle . . ."
"Look here," Lafayette said, holding her at arm's length. "Look at me! Do I really look like this Zorro character?"
"Zorito, you are a beeg comeec!" Gizelle grabbed his ears, nibbled his cheek. "Of course you look like yourself, seely! Why shouldn't you?"
"Because I'm
not
myself! I mean, I'm not anyone named Zorito! I'm Lafayette O'Leary! I'm a peaceful
Roumi
, who just happened to be skulking around in the dark and got picked up by the City Guard, and rescued by mistake by Luppo and his thugs! And now everybody seems to think I'm somebody I'm not!"
Gizelle looked at him doubtfully. "Nobody could look theese much like my Zorito and not be Zorito . . . unless you got maybe a tween brother?"
"No, I'm not twins," Lafayette said firmly. "At least," he started, "not unless you want to count certain characters like Lorenzo and Lothario O'Leary, and of course Lohengrin O'Leary, and Lafcadio and Lancelot—" he caught himself. "But I'm just obfuscating the issue. They don't really exist—at least not in this continuum."
"You sure talk a bunch of nonseense, Zorito," Gizelle said. "Hey—I know! Take off your clothes!"
"Er—do you think we have time?" Lafayette hedged. "I mean—"
"You got a leetle birthmark on your heep," Gizelle explained. "Let me see, queek!"
"Just a minute, somebody might come along and get the wrong idea!" Lafayette protested; but the girl had already grabbed his shirt, yanked the tails clear of his belt, dragged his waistband down to expose his hipbone.
"See? Just like I remeember!" She pointed in triumph to the butterfly-shaped blemish on the olive skin. "I knew you were keeding all along, Zorito!"
"That's impossible," Lafayette said, staring at the mark. He poked at it experimentally. "I never had a birthmark in my life! I . . ." his voice faltered as his gaze focused on his fingertip. It was a long, slender finger, with a grimy, well-chewed nail.
"That," O'Leary said, swallowing hard, "is not
my
finger!"
3
"I'm perfectly fine," Lafayette said calmly, addressing the backs of his eyelids. "Pulse sixty, blood pressure normal, temperature 98.6°F., sensory impressions coming in loud and clear, memory excellent—"
"Zorito," Gizelle said, "why are you standeeng there weeth your eyes closed, talking to yourself?"
"I'm not talking to myself, my dear. I'm talking to whoever I've turned into—
whom
ever, I should say—object of the preposition, you know—"
"Zorito—you don't turn into eenybody—you are steel you!"
"I can see we're going to have a little trouble with definitions," Lafayette said, feeling the fine edge of hysteria creeping higher, ready to leap. With an effort, he pulled himself together.
"But as I tried to tell your uncle, I have important business in the capital—"
"More important than your wedding night?"
"
My
wedding night?" Lafayette repeated, dumbfounded.
"Yours—and mine," Gizelle said grimly.
"Wait a minute," Lafayette said, "this has gone far enough. In the first place, I don't even know you, and in the second place, I've already got a wife, and—" He leaped back just in time as a slim blade flashed in the girl's hand.
"So—eet's like theese, eh?" she hissed, advancing. "You theenk you can play games weeth the heart of Gizelle? You theenk you can keess and run away, hey? I'll feex you so you never break a poor girl's heart again, you worm-in-the grass!" She leaped, Lafayette bumped against the side of a wagon; the blade came up—
But instead of striking, Gizelle hesitated. Sudden tears spilled from her long-lashed eyes. She let the stiletto fall from her fingers, covered her face with her hands.
"I can't do eet," she sobbed. "Now they weel all speet on me, b-b-but I don't care. I weel keel myself instead . . ." She groped for the knife; Lafayette grabbed her hands.
"No!" he blurted. "Gizelle! Stop! Listen to me! I . . .I—"
"You . . . you do care for me theen?" Gizelle said in a quavering tone, blinking away the tears.
"Of course I care for you! I mean . . ." He paused at the succession of expressions that crossed the girl's piquant face.
"You remember now how much you love me?" she demanded eagerly.
"No—I mean—I don't remember, but . . ."
"You poor darleeng!" Sudden contrition transformed Gizelle's features into those of an angel of mercy. "Luppo said you got heet on the head! Theese geeves you amnesia, no? That's why you don't remember our great love!"
"That . . . that must be it," Lafayette temporized.
"My Zorito," Gizelle cooed. "It was for me you got knocked on the head; come, we go eenside; soon eet weel all come back to you." She turned him toward the wagon door.
"But—what if your uncle sees us—"
"Let heem eat hees heart out," Gizelle said callously.
"Fine—but what if he decides to cut
my
heart out instead?"
"You don't have to play cheecken any longer, Zorito; you made your point. Now you get your reward." She lifted a heavy latch and pushed open the door; a candle on a table shed a romantic light on tapestries, icons, rugs, a beaded hanging beyond which was visible a high-sided bed with a red and black satin coverlet and a scattering of pink and green cushions, a tarnished oval mirror. Lafayette stared in fascination at the narrow, swarthy, black-eyed face reflected there. Glossy blue-black hair grew to a widow's peak above high-arched brows. The nose was long and aquiline, the mouth well-molded if a trifle weak, the teeth china-white except for a gold filling in the upper left incisor. It wasn't a bad-looking face, Lafayette thought numbly, if you liked them flashy and heavy on the hair oil.