The Stainless Steel Rat for President

Chapter 17

There's nothing like a whiff of panic to clear the head. As the adrenalin pumped through my veins, all traces of fatigue vanished on the instant. What was wrong? The door should have been open—they had my message. I pushed again with the same lack of result.

When I looked over my shoulder I saw that the policemen had reached the car. But as soon as they got close the limp arm vanished back inside and the vehicle burst into life, surging forward and away. One policeman shook his fist in impotent fury while the other, slightly more intelligent, wrote down the registration number of the vanishing vehicle. Although this exercise was about as practical as the fist waving: the car had been stolen.

Within seconds the police would turn around and see me there. One last push and I would be off. To think of another plan.

I slammed my shoulder hard against the door in anger, just as it opened. Off-balance I plummeted through and heard it slam behind me.

"Welcome to Castle Penoso, Sir Hector," a tremulous voice said, "Welcome." I climbed to my feet and dusted off my knees. The owner of the voice stood just before me. A wraithlike gray man with gray hair and gray skin that neatly matched the color of his clothes. I accepted the tremulous hand and pressed the ancient fingers lightly, bowing at the same time. Trying to remember what you called a duke. Your worship? Your highness? Your dukeness? My mind was empty. I would have to fake it.

"What kindness! How can I thank you? I have faced death this day and have only been saved by your timely actions!"

"All I did was open the door. Sir Hector," he said, dismissing this brave action as a mere bagatelle. He blinked rheumy eyes in my direction. "But sit, I pray you, have a drop of brandy. Then tell me everything. I had only a brief note from the marquez asking me to admit you. He said you would explain."

I did. While schnozzling into the excellent brandy. Of course, I simplified the story in the telling, but the events pretty much followed those that had happened the day before. The duke's eyes widened at my tale, and he trembled and gasped so hard I was worried for him. But he lasted the course and the story so impressed him that he joined me in a brandy.

"Terrible! Terrible! Zapilote must be done away with once and for all. But how is my dear fourth cousin thirteen times removed?" It was my turn to hobble my head, until I finally realized that he must have meant the marquez; I wondered how they kept track of the family connections.

"I don't know. That is where you must help me. If I write the message will you send it on the semaphore?"

"Oh dear, instantly of course. I will call my operator." While he tingled his little bell and issued instructions I scratched out a concise query:

I AM SAFE IN CASTLE PENOSO. WHAT IS CONDITION OF MARQUEZ, JAMES AND BOLIVAR?

SIR HECTOR HARAPO

The duke nodded over the slip of paper and handed it to his operator who hurried off: no long stair climbs for the duke. All we could do then was wait. I made free use of the brandy decanter. When the answer finally arrived I tore it from the operator's fingers, then grated my teeth when I saw that it was still in code.

I paced and muttered while the duke clicked his little wheels and nattered cabalistically to himself. When he finally turned around with the decoded message I was there, behind him, leaning over his shoulder, unmindful of any breach of etiquette. Had they made it through to the castle? I could feel the tension draining away as I read:

MARQUEZ RESPONDING WELL TO MEDICAL ATTENTION. BOLIVAR AND JAMES UNHARMED. PLEASE ISSUE ORDERS.

LADY HARAPO.

All was well! The boys had done their job and brought de Torres home. I had seen the medical setup in the castle so I knew that once the doctors and machines had pounced on him he would be all right. And Angelina had taken over in my absence. I could now afford to relax. And I did. By pouring another brandy.

"Good news indeed," the duke quavered. "What will your next course of action be?"

"A careful one. We were lucky to get out alive, walking into the lion's den like that. We won't let that happen again. This campaign must be planned step by step, run like a military operation. Whenever I, and the marquez, appear in public we are going to be guarded like the crown jewels."

"Yes, the crown jewels. What a tragedy. I remember it like yesterday, when Zapilote had just taken office." Yesterday? That was a good hundred and seventy-five years ago! The General-President wasn't the only one on geriatric drugs. "He promised a rule of law and like fools we believed him. I'll guard the crown jewels he said. Never been seen since. Must have sold them, I know his type…" He rambled on some more like this and I tuned out. What was the next step? Getting out of Primoroso and back to the safety of the castle would be a good beginning. But how? I could think of nothing, my mind was empty, my limbs fatigued. I was also half-smashed on the brandy, which might have had something to do with my lack of inspiration. But there must be a special law of destiny that looks after stainless steel rats and other miscreants. Because at that very moment, while I and the duke were both muttering to ourselves through the brandy fumes, salvation was on its way. In the form of a timid knock on the door, repeated again when there was no response.

"Eh, what?" the duke said, rousing from his senile alcoholic revery. "Come in, come in." The door to the study trembled open and the butler, old enough to be the duke's father, stumbled through.

"It is not my wish to disturb Your Grace," he tremoloed in fine imitation of his master, "but today is Thursday."

"Is there any particular reason why you are giving me this report on the calendar?" the duke asked, head hobbling in wonderment.

"Yes, Your Grace. You ordered me to inform you of this fact every Thursday at least a half an hour before they arrived."

"Merda!" His Grace snarled quite gracefully, his rictus of anger revealing a fine set of artificial white choppers. "They'll be here soon."

"They?" I shook my head, feeling I had missed something important.

"Every Thursday. Can't avoid it. Government order. And the fees go against taxes. Tour of noble homes. Filthy offworld tourists trampling through these hallowed halls made sacred by generations of Penosos…" There was more like this—but I wasn't listening. Tourists! Here! All fatigue and most of the effects of the brandy vanished on the instant. Escape from my predicament had just been offered to me on a gilded platter. The silver bell was on the table and I tinkled it loudly, which brought both the attention of the duke and the return of the butler.

"Do I understand that you will soon have oafish offworld tourists shambling through this castle?"

"Indeed, Sir Hector. What terrible times these are."

"They certainly are. How many will there be in the party?"

"There is usually a coach-load from Puerto Azul. Between forty and fifty."

"Invasion of proletarians," the duke adumbrated.

"What precautions do you take to see that they don't lift the ducal silver and paw the paintings?"

"A number of footmen accompany the party at all times."

"Made to order," I chortled, rubbing my hands together briskly as I turned to the duke. "Might I enlist the aid of your staff to assist me in departing this fine castle without drawing any police attention?"

"Of course, anything for the next President of Paraiso-Aqui." He lurched to his feet and placed his hand over his heart, then nodded to the butler who did the same.

"To the next President of Paraiso-Aqui," they intoned fervently and I bowed my head at the honor. This little ceremony over with, they were more than ready to help.

"One question first." Their gray heads nodded eagerly. "Is there a secret passage leading out of this castle?"

"There is a secret passage leading out of every castle!" the duke said, startled at my ignorance. "Ours comes up in a building across the road. Dug by the third duke. Used to be a brothel there." He smiled faintly, perhaps trying to remember what girls were like.

"Excellent. Then here is my plan. A footman's uniform will be obtained for me and I will don it. I will then accompany the tourists and choose one to replace. It will be a simple matter for me to then exit with the tourists whose presence will guarantee my safety."

"But your clothes…" the duke protested.

"I'll use the tourist's clothes."

"Your beard?"

"Will be shaved off."

By this time the duke had caught on to the idea and was cackling with glee. "How intelligent you are. Hector. You were so stupid as a child I never believed you would ever stop drooling. And the secret passage, of course, we use that to dump the tourist's body into a refuse barrel."

"No bodies!" I said sharply. "If the tourist is killed the investigation will surely reveal that he vanished here. There can be no suspicion. I'll give the man an injection that will affect his memory. When the police find him wandering around, smelling strongly of ron, which I'm sure you can arrange, he will remember nothing of the events of this day. In addition to sloshing him with cheap booze you will also stuff this wad of money into his pocket so there will be no suspicion of robbery. The authorities will laugh and return him to the resort and that will be the end of it."

"I wish we could kill somebody," the duke pouted.

"Later. After the election. Meanwhile I must get that uniform."

By the time I had stripped off the beard yet another time—it was getting a bit ratty after this treatment—and pulled on the knee breeches and other servile clothing, the tourists had arrived. I could hear them chattering like demented squirrels as I slipped into the ranks of the servants. The staff had been told of the plan—and they all proved to be exceedingly well-trained. Not one eye turned in my direction as we plodded in silence after the bare-kneed, loudly dressed, camera bearing tourist brigade.

"…trebonegan eksemplon de la pentroj de la ekskrementepoko de pasinta jarcento…" the guide rattled on, pointing out the badly painted and worse hung portraits that littered the walls. The tourists looked at the paintings and I looked at them, closing in on my kill. Most of the offworlders came in octogenarian pairs and these I ignored. There were some single women trudging along but I passed these by as well, not being up to an instant sex change. Then I spotted my prey. Alone, male, almost my size, wearing purple shorts, a gold lace shirt, and a bored scowl. He had a camera around his neck and a straw bag on his arm bearing the printed message I BEEN TO PUERTO AZUL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS CRUMMY BAG. He would do—oh yes he would! I walked close behind him and when the crowd turned to look at yet one more bad painting I tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He wheeled about, scowl deepening. I bent to whisper in his ear.

"Please don't tell the others, but there is a free bottle of ron for you. Gift of the duke. One per tourist party. You are the chosen one today. Please follow me." And he did. Being very careful that the others did not notice him go. Oh, avarice, what crimes are committed in thy name.

"In here, sir." I opened the study door, and there was the butler holding a silver tray complete with rum bottle. The tourist yakked enthusiastically and extended his arm. I hit it with a slaphypo, then closed the door as he crumpled to the carpet. The duke looked on happily, no doubt seeing this minor triumph as the harbinger of a better age. Who knows, perhaps it was.

I mixed with the crowd, unnoticed in the rush for seats on the bus. A bored policeman counted heads as we streamed from the castle, made a check mark in his book and signaled the driver. The bus doors closed, the air conditioner came on at the same time as the canned music, and we rolled down the road.

The woman in the seat next to me glared at me suspiciously. "I ain't never seen you before," she said.