The Galaxy Builder

Chapter Four

It was early morning, Lafayette realized as he stepped cautiously out onto the weed-choked vacant lot which had, back in Artesia, been the rose garden. All was silent. Lafayette went boldly across to the thicket where he had met Lord Trog and his minions. It was deserted now, only the gilt chair, now lying on its side, remaining as evidence of the hairy chieftain's visit. O'Leary set it upright and sat in it, remembering the long row of which it had once been a member, lining the mirrored grand hall.

There was a sound from the dense underbrush; then Marv, moving uncertainly, emerged into view. He had the appearance of a survivor of some disaster.

He eyed O'Leary warily, then looked aside, angling off as if to skirt his position rather than approaching.

"Where is everybody, Marv?" Lafayette called, his voice shocking even himself as it broke the eerie stillness. Marv shied and scuttled on. O'Leary called him back.

"Over here, Marv," he ordered. "We need to have a little talk." The former bodyguard paused and then obediently edged toward the chair, not looking at Lafayette. He reminded O'Leary of an oft-beaten dog with a guilty conscience.

"Glad to see you got clear, Yer Lordship," Marv muttered.

"Clear of what?" O'Leary demanded.

"Too bad me and Omar din't stay inside like you said —but climbing them stairs was too much. Like, not only is a guy sticking his neck out, but I and old Omar was getting pretty winded, too. So, when we heard the bugle go, natcherly we hadda report in on the double— just in time to watch Frodolkin's boys drag old Trog outa his fancy chair, which I think he'd pop a gusset if he could see you setting in it now, Sir Al."

"I'm Sir Lafayette, not 'Al', O'Leary snapped. "What's happened here? Where's Trog?"

"Like I was tryna say, sir—they got him. Prolly got him hung up by the heels right now, squeezing his secrets outa him. Onney it'll take a while, 'cause he ain't got none—secrets, I mean."

"Who's this Frodolkin you mentioned—and where?" O'Leary insisted. "I need to see the head man here, and if Trog's been replaced by Frodolkin, then he's the one I have to see—and in a hurry."

Marv scratched at his unkempt scalp with a fingernail like a black-rimmed banjo pick. "Lessee," he muttered, "he might be back at camp, celebrating the big victory and all—or maybe he's out scouting his new territory, kinda sizing up what he got here. Beats me."

"Listen, Marv," O'Leary said urgently, rising and going closer to the ragged fellow, who was intent now on capturing a flea. "Just before I showed up," O'Leary insisted, "didn't you see a girl—a lovely young woman with dark hair, wearing a silver-lame gown and a blue velvet cloak that's too big for her? It's my cloak, you see; I just put it around her so she wouldn't get soaked in the rain. You must have seen her! She was only a few seconds ahead of me."

"Not a chanst, Al. A dame to fit that description ain't been seen in these parts since last Saint Filbert's Day anyways. And if she was, she'd of been grabbed by the first guy seen her. We ain't seen nobody. Forget it, pal. It's a nice delusion, but it just won't stand up. Why not go on down to town and find yerself one o' them nice friendly broads hangs around Ye Gut Bucket Bar and Grill?"

"Because Daphne's here, and I mean to find her," Lafayette replied staunchly. "How many of Trog's men can you round up in a hurry?"

"Depends what for," Marv replied lazily. "If it's easy and pays good, a lotta the boys'll volunteer, just outa sheer altruism. What you got in mind, Al?"

"For the last time," O'Leary snapped. "I'm not Al!"

"You come outa the Dread Tower, din't ya?" Marv countered.

"Of course, but—"

"You saying Allegorus don't hang around the Tower?" Marv challenged.

"Well, no," Lafayette conceded. "He dropped in while I was there, as a matter of fact."

"What I don't figger," Marv confided, rubbing his unshaven jaw with a horny palm, "is hows come you don't use some o' them snazzy tricks which you're justly famous for and all, to locate this Daffy broad you're hung up on."

"I wish I could," Lafayette mourned. "But ever since they focused the suppressor on me"—his thought continued after his voice faded—"still, I did handle old Trog pretty well when he was all set to give me the works. Maybe if I really concentrate—"

"Hey, Al, don't go working no spells while I'm around, OK?" Marv broke into his reverie. "I'm skeered o' witchcraft and like that. So just wait'll I take cover. Hark! What's that?"

"That's I and my boys putting the arm on you, dumdum," an unfamiliar voice replied to Marv's rhetorical question. A big fellow wearing a faded and patched but recognizable uniform resembling that of the Royal Artesian Pioneer Corps stepped from the underbrush, holding in his fist a naked short-sword with which he whacked idly at the obstructing brush.

"Uh-oh," Marv said in a stricken tone. "General Frodolkin hisself, if I ain't mistaken."

"None other, Marv," the great man acknowledged.

"Chee, sir," Marv said in tones of wonder. "Hows come Yer Worship to know my name and all?"

"Surely you recall, Marv: Last fall you turned your coat and for some days were one of my most trusted retainers. Unfortunately, after that you blotted your copybook badly by turning it again and redefecting to the upstart Trog with my second best dirk—with sheath—and wild tales of an imminent attack by me."

"I can explain, Yer Lordship," Marv came back uncertainly. "See, I got a idea to spy out old Trog, which he never did appreciate my loyal service, and come back to tip you off, which ya could beat him to the punch."

"Umm," Frodolkin murmured. "A matter into which my PPS will inquire later. Now, who's your companion here? Didn't I hear you call him Allegorus?"

"Ya could've," Marv conceded.

"Capital!" Frodolkin cried. "I have need of your services, sir," he went on, looking at Lafayette directly for the first time. Then he turned to yell over his shoulder: "George! Iron-Head Mike! Take me this pair at once! On the double!"

In response to this bellow, two surly louts came thrusting through the screen of trees, glowering. At sight of O'Leary, they moved in eagerly. At that moment, it occurred forcibly to O'Leary that he had definitely been hasty in leaving the shelter of the laboratory.

"No rough stuff yet, boys," Frodolkin said, easing into their path. "I got a use for this prisoner," he explained, deftly palming off the nearer of the two heavies. "Now, you just quiet down, George," he admonished. "You'll have your chance to hear bones breaking later, if he fails to cooperate."

"Aw, these pansies wit' clean fingernails always cooperates easy," George complained.

"Yeah," Iron-Head agreed, nodding his unkempt mop soberly. "We ain't had no fun since that little sap-sucker in the fancy britches come pokin' around here, Monday a week."

Frodolkin turned to Lafayette. "Well, you see how the wind blows, sir," he said silkily. "So, what is it to be? Gracious cooperation, or grudging cooperation? I assure you, in the end the result will be the same, so you'd be wise to cultivate a bit of good will on my part by willingly performing the trifling task I have in mind for you."

"Say, Al," Marv muttered conspiratorially from the side of his mouth, "this here'd be a swell time for you to pull one of them nifties outer yer sleeve, OK?"

"Sorry, General," Lafayette said, ignoring Marv. "First I have to find Daphne—she's lost here somewhere ... Have you seen a beautiful brunette wearing a blue velvet cloak? Probably scared to death, poor kid."

"If I had," Frodolkin responded, "I'd not be here now, nattering of trifles—not that your presence is to be regarded lightly."

Lafayette was thinking furiously: if he could manage just one little trick now ... After all, he didn't absolutely know there wasn't a squad of the Royal Artesian Household Guard concealed in the brush, awaiting the moment to move in on these interlopers ... He concentrated on the details of their red-and-blue uniforms with gold-braided white lapels, fancy-dress sabers hanging beside polished boots ...

O'Leary blinked hard as a sudden vertigo seemed to blur his vision. Then he was back in the dim gray room. He looked around eagerly for another glimpse of Daphne, but before he could complete his scan, Frumpkin hurried up, glass in hand.

"Sorry about the interruption, my boy," he said hastily, "but as you see, my enemies are everywhere —the blind fools! Now, as soon as you've decided to be reasonable..."

Before Lafayette could reply scathingly, the dim light faded and winked out. Frumpkin's voice continued for a moment; then sunlight dazzled O'Leary.

There was a crackle of breaking twigs, and a paunchy villein in a soiled red-and-blue coat staggered into view, a decapitated wine bottle clamped in one gnarled fist. A battered saber sheath dragged the ground, its gold-braided decorations dangling in snarled loops.

"Oops, par' me, General," he said blurrily. "Have a li'l drinkie?" He proffered the bottle, which Frodolkin struck aside before George could reach it.

Almost, Lafayette told himself. I came close, but my focus seems to be a bit off. Still, it's a start.

"How's about it, Al?" Marv persisted. "How about a neat one, like the time you turned youself into a big bird? Or the time you had the flying carpet and all?" '

"Not today, Marv," O'Leary said brusquely. Then to Frodolkin, who had turned the newcomer bodily and with a shove headed him back whence he had come, "Sorry, General. I'm just here for a few hours, and I have some very Urgent business to attend to. But, just out of curiosity, what is this boon you're craving of me?"

"As to that," Frodolkin replied, "it happens that at present I find it necessary to chastise a rogue known as Duke Bother-Be-Damned, a chore for which I can ill afford to allocate my own valuable time just now. Ergo, I wish you to bring the scoundrel to heel on my behalf."

"Why should I do your dirty work?" Lafayette asked reasonably.

"Aside from George and Iron-Head Mike, there are a number of reasons," Frodolkin stated flatly.

"Sorry," Lafayette said. "I don't have time. Actually, I think I'll just nip back into the Tower for a moment; it seems I forgot something."

"Indeed you did, Sir Allegorus," Frodolkin agreed with a wave of his hand, which drew O'Leary's attention to a nearly solid ring of unshaven ruffians now surrounding the clearing.

"OK, now!" Marv hissed in the direction of O'Leary's ear. "Don't lemme down pal, after I sided witcha an all," he whined.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?" Lafayette demanded of Frodolkin, ignoring Marv plucking at his sleeve.

"Supposition does not enter into the matter," Frodolkin replied coolly. "As for 'some kind of threat', I think the nature of the threat is obvious enough." At his nod, Iron-Head Mike took a step closer to O'Leary.

"Perhaps," Frodolkin said, "after you've completed your mission, I'll consider permitting you to revisit yon fell ruin—though why you should desire to do so is, I confess, a riddle."

"Look, General," Lafayette said desperately. "You don't get it. I'm not just some picnicker you happened to roust. I've got to get back to the lab—it's my only link, maybe, with Central and Artesia. And meanwhile, my wife, Daphne ... uh, Countess Daphne to you, is out here somewhere, lost in this crazy jungle full of maniacs!"

"The Countess, eh?" Frodolkin echoed. He turned to the nearest of his bodyguard. "Any of you boys seen the Countess around?" he inquired in a bored tone.

"Uh, Chief, old Mel-the-Smell's got him a sow he calls Dutchess," a whiskery fellow volunteered doubtfully.

"He don't mean no pig," Iron-Head dismissed the suggestion. "He means a dame, a real snazzy piece too, eh, kid?" He leered at Lafayette and belched comfortably. "Maybe we're missing a bet at that, Chief, not collecting duh broad."

Now's the time, Lafayette told himself grimly. He eyed the seven-foot bruiser, thinking of the heavy lunch of lobster-tails and pizza the big fellow might well have gulped down half an hour ago. Focus the old psychic energies, he urged himself. Was there a slight flicker, or did he imagine it? He looked at Iron-Head Mike.

A stricken expression crossed the blunted features of the bodyguard. He put one large hand tenderly against his abdomen. His color was no longer good.

"What's wrong, Iron-Head?" Lafayette inquired genially. "You look hungry. How about a pizza and a gallon of warm sweet port?"

Iron-Head shuddered, looking distinctly green now.

"What's all this about pizza?" Frodolkin demanded. "I've warned you fellows to stay out of my private mess tent. You wouldn't appreciate the subtleties of smoked oysters, caviar, escargots, artichoke hearts, pickled onions, and rare wines; that's why I sequester such comestibles as my portion of our forage."

"Ulp," Iron-Head said blurrily, using both hands now.

Oh, boy, Lafayette said to himself, feeling a surge of enthusiasm. It's just like the old days, like the time Count Alain was trying to keep me from getting to know Adoranne. I'm back in business!

"Hey, Mike," George said, emerging into view from the underbrush with his unshaved jaws working hard and holding in his unwashed paw a vast sandwich minus one sizable crescent.

"Wanna bite o' my sardine-peaner-butter-and-ba-nana samidge?" he inquired, offering the construction, the edges of which oozed ketchup and mayonnaise—or possibly blood and brains, Lafayette reflected, averting his eyes. Iron-Head passed him at a trot, bound for the shelter of a raggedly overgrown hibiscus hedge whence there emanated almost at once sounds reminiscent of a brontosauras in labor, combined with the eruption of a small volcano. As Frodolkin stared concernedly after his stricken minion, Lafayette unobtrusively edged off toward the vine-grown and mildew-stained tower still, surprisingly, looming above the trees against the clear morning sky. He was halfway there when Marv's voice overtook him.

"Hey, where ya goin', boss? Not back inside the Dread Tower, huh? I mean, I been inside wunst and got out in one piece—I ain't innerested in, like, tempting fate and all by venturin there again!"

"Certainly, Marv," O'Leary replied firmly. "That's where the action is. Come on." Even as he spoke, O'Leary heard his voice take on a hollow, echoic quality. Mist was settling in, blurring things, and again he saw the gray room around him. Frumpkin rose from an overstuffed chair, and at once Lafayette grabbed his arm, no longer clad in coarse gray, he noticed, but in the elegant silver-trimmed black he had worn in the Tower.

"Where's Daphne?" O'Leary demanded. Frumpkin jerked his arm free and spoke to someone out of sight behind O'Leary. He heard a movement, ducked too late, and fell endlessly; he struck hard, and the light of day glared around him.

"Grab them, lads!" Frodolkin's command cracked like a whip. Lafayette turned as Marv hurried back the way he had come, giving a wide berth to George who was advancing supporting Iron-Head Mike, who came protesting. As they approached, O'Leary stepped close to Mike.

"You may have an iron head," he said, "but I'll bet you've got a glass gut." He feinted a jab to the midriff; the big fellow staggered back, hands extended, fingers spread as if to fend off an advancing juggernaut.

"Have a heart, pal," he groaned. "I ain't in my best form right now, OK? So maybe I'll give ya a break this time, see? I'll just play like I din't hear him."

As Lafayette eased around the giant and continued quickly across the broken flagstones to the no-longer-collapsed doorway, Marv caught his arm. He turned to shake him loose, and from behind him an iron clamp closed on his shoulder, yanked him inside, and dropped him. The door slammed and he was in darkness.

The darkness lightened and he caught a glimpse of the wide, featureless gray room. Daphne stood a few feet away, dressed in a gown of pale yellow Lafayette had never before seen. He croaked her name. She turned, seemed to look through him, and walked away to be lost in dimness. Frumpkin hurried up. "This won't do, you know, my boy," he said in mild reprimand. "We must come to terms."

O'Leary knocked the Man in Black aside and hurried after Daphne, but there was only darkness around him now.

"Come back here, you vandal!" Frumpkin's frantic voice shouted after him. "You'll ruin everything!"

"It occurred to me, my boy," the resonant voice of Allegorus said from the gloom, "that you'd be in need of a trifle of assistance about now." There was a scratching sound, and light flared. The tall figure of the mysterious Primary agent loomed over O'Leary, holding a candlestick in one hand. With the other, still as hard as an iron clamp, he hauled Lafayette to his feet.

"Come along, lad," he ordered curtly. "We have work to do—and not much time to do it in."