Pulp Fiction | The Hollow Crown Affair by David McDaniel (12 page)

"In other words," said Illya, "the uniform of the defending forces. I heard about these things going on in American colleges, but I never really believed it."

"Don't worry," said Napoleon. "There are very few casualties. I happen to be a veteran of a few myself, and would be glad to show it to you as it progresses."

"You must tell us sometime just what you did to Crawford," said Illya over his shoulder as Napoleon led him to the coffin-sized closet and sorted out two green-and-gold jackets. Baldwin didn't answer. Lyn said, "Oh,
do
be careful," as they left, and shifted her chair over to the window next to Dr. Fraser. From the second floor front they had a perfect view.

Napoleon and Illya took the steps three at a time and then paused between the inner and outer double doors on the sheltered stairs. "Where are the forces we are to join?" Illya asked doubtfully.

Napoleon took a quick look outside and saw two gray ghosts disappear behind trees. He eased the door open and looked to either side. "Come on," he hissed. "Quick. And act casual."

As he spoke he pushed the door open wide and sauntered candidly down the next dozen steps, Illya flanking a few feet behind him and to the left. Out from between the other buildings on either side other green-and-gold jackets were wandering, idly bent on no particular business and all aimed for the center of the Quad.

It was an eerie moment, and both sides doubtless felt it. In tense silence the scattered bright jackets began to move together, and in a moment one of the gray shadows pulled away from a tree and gave ground. At exactly that moment the entire left flank shattered.

A dozen or so charged forward and something white flew ahead of them like a snowball. It burst on a tree and a cloud of white billowed out. "Flour grenade," said Napoleon. "It confuses your enemy." Illya nodded. Several more flew as the skirmish line reached the edge of the Quad, and white patches began to appear among the fleeing Thrush forces. They paused once to regroup and started towards their cars, but another line of green-and-gold jackets stood there and now started forward. The little knot of gray-sweatered figures huddled for a moment, then headed in apparent disarray directly towards the steps where Napoleon and Illya stood.

Illya braced for a defense as he saw more bright jackets hurrying to his aid from either side—and Napoleon broke and ducked back through the doors to safety. For ten seconds Illya wondered dazedly if his partner had lost his nerve, then Solo kicked open the door and emerged with something cradled in his arms. "Here's a good one," he said to Illya as the first four Thrushies reached the bottom steps. "
Watch out!
" he yelled to the world at large, and twisted something.

There was a quivering and a belching sound from the thing he held, and something writhed and snapped rigid behind him. Ten feet away the leading attacker was suddenly hit square in the chest with a frothing white rod just over an inch in diameter. He staggered, which can be fatal while going up stairs, lost his balance and was bowled over backwards, twisting to roll onto his shoulder as he fell.

Napoleon swung the fire hose, yelling something Illya couldn't quite follow, and swept eight more Thrushes and two University men off the stone steps like so many beetles. They scrabbled around regaining their equilibrium and occasionally swinging at each other.

The second wave of Thrushes never hit. They scattered towards every point of the compass but east. The rest of the green-and-gold jackets spread like a defensive outfield—which many of them were—and started to make interceptions.

The battle was now fairly joined. The western line moved forward from the cars in open formation, and gray shadows ducked between them. One reached a car and tore the door open, grabbing inside. He was just turning around when something slapped the side of his head and knocked him sideways. An instant later a string of tiny bright flashes in the dusk sparkled around him and the patter of small firecrackers echoed across the Quad. The Thrush straightened up, fumbling around his head, which was now a dazzling blue, as was the top of his sweater.

Napoleon said, "Ever heard of a water bomb? A water-filled balloon or paper sack designed to burst on impact."

"It works as well or better with Analine dyes," Illya observed.

"Uh-huh."

Four or five bright jackets moved in on the car, and two of them knelt briefly beside it. Napoleon and Illya dove straight down into the midst of the confusion in the middle of the Quad and were caught up in it. A flying body hit Napoleon about the knees and he folded over into the midst of several tussling figures. He was thankful he wore the uniform of the majority as three or four arms pulled him back to his feet and he looked around for Illya.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder and he spun around with his guard up and a fist cocked. Something wet and slippery filled his face and stung his eyes, and he swung his hands blindly rubbing to clear them. As he was blinking and doubling over defensively, somebody knocked him down again, but by then he was almost able to see and recognized the sharp sticky sweet smell of shaving cream.

He rolled away, wiping his sleeves across his face. The shaving bomb lay among the fighters now, its valve broken off and top blown free, spinning and spitting gobs of white lather in every direction. Both sides were slipping on the soapy grass and the cement sidewalk was little better—as in another second two more bombs landed almost simultaneously, spreading their foam in widening circles of chaos.

Illya ran up to him, face smeared. "I think this is what they would call a riot now?"

"Only a newspaper would call it that," said Napoleon, catching his breath. "This is just a little horseplay."

"I wonder what Baldwin did to inspire such loyalty?"

"He'll have to tell us eventu...Look out!"

Two club-swinging Thrushes charged from the throng towards them. Illya whirled and ducked, catching the first just below his center of gravity with a braced forearm to help him over. The other jumped aside to avoid going the same route, but slipped on a patch of shaving lather. His arms windmilled frantically as his feet skidded diagonally out from under him and he seemed to fly under his own power for almost six feet until he crashed face down at the unmoving feet of Napoleon Solo.

He looked down at Illya and said, "Why do you always do it the hard way?"

Some more of the Thrushes had made it back to their cars, and were struggling to get into them as more paint bombs burst on and around them. Suddenly motors roared up the next street and tires squealed around the corner into the campus. Five cars painted in gaudy colors swung into the Quad and thundered across the street. Heads and arms stuck out the windows waving beer bottles and banners and yelling. The doors burst open on all sides even before the cars were stopped, and at least two dozen howling collegians tumbled out and leaped into the melee.

Instinctively Napoleon and Illya faded back towards Williams Hall. As they did, the Russian asked, "Who are
they
?"

"I'm not sure," said Napoleon. "What color uniform are they wearing?"

"Would you believe blue and red?"

"Another precinct heard from," Napoleon sighed. "Do you want to get back into that donnybrook or retire to Baldwin's box seats?"

"Depends on who's winning," said Illya reasonably. "How is our side doing at the moment?"

"Who can tell?"

They moved to the fringes of the battle zone to see what was going on. Something spattered and hissed, and somebody swore. There were cries of
Get That Guy!!
and three or four people pounced on somebody else. Napoleon and Illya moved forward to investigate. Solo was tackled by somebody in a green-and-gold jacket whose eyes were clenched tight; he went down and yelled at him as he tried to pry him loose. The arms slacked and he forced a bloodshot eye open. "Sorry, fellas," he said. "Those
qualified nouns
got some spray stuff that fights dirty. Lemme give y'a hand—we'll take 'em out."

They helped each other to their feet and looked for the center of the brawl. Illya was over there, naturally, matching kicks and grabs with a wide-eyed Japanese boy in a red-and-blue jacket with a Frosh beanie. They both feinted and blocked in practised form, and the Freshman made a grab. Illya swung lightly to the side and almost caught his shoulders, then spun to jump for him as he landed. He charged forward, but the other had found his balance already and caught Illya's forearm as he went by. The Russian agent described a neat double somersault and landed on his back, arms out. Napoleon bent beside him and helped him up as his erstwhile partner ran on to join the action.

"That son of a gun is good," Illya gasped, getting to his feet and looking around for the little frat man who had thrown him so neatly. "You could have given me a hand," he said accusingly.

"You looked like you were having fun," said Napoleon, "and I didn't want to butt in until there was somebody for me. By the time you stopped looking as if you were having fun, it was too late."

"I'm sorry I asked. What kept you?"

They both leaped sideways as a knot of arms and legs wrapped in gray, gold and red tumbled by, threatening to destroy everything in its path. A fat, obviously heavy spheroid rolled across the grass, fallen from some courageous hand. Illya picked it up and studied it as Napoleon jumped to join him and pull him out of the way of a shower of water as somebody got the fire hose on the steps of Williams Hall into operation again. "Napoleon...
oof!
Sorry—Napoleon, what's this? One of those balloon things?"

"Right. You found it; it's yours to do with as you will. Just remember it's not a rigid body when you throw it, and allow for the inertia. Underhand is better."

"Think I could reach Baldwin's window?"

"Don't even contemplate it. He's probably watching with his binoculars at this very moment, and if we did anything along the lines of further escalation of hostilities he'd only give us a hard time after the war. But on the other hand he expects us to do our part out here."

"I see." Illya looked from behind the tree sheltering him from the capricious drops of the thrashing fire hose, now writhing untended across the steps of Williams Hall and showering the entire Quad with chilly water. Suddenly another sound became audible over the racket of the battle.

Sirens wailed around the corner into the campus and two police cars squealed to either end of the Quad. One braked to the curb just fifteen feet from where Illya and Napoleon stood behind trees, trying to be thin.

An amplified voice thundered across the Quad. "
All right, break it up—break it up. If you clear away now you can go free. In about one minute we'll start making arrests.
"

From the center of the square came two Thrushes at a dead run straight for the near patrol car. Illya froze in the shadows as they whipped by him, then swung out and sent the fat quivering balloon sailing through the air towards them. Unhappily, he misjudged its weight. It arced just over their heads and burst on the top of the police car door, splattering the top, sides, hood and upholstery with a brilliant and runny blue dye.

Illya nearly choked, and looked to see if anyone had connected him with the dye bomb—only Napoleon was staring at him with an absolutely shattered expression. The two policemen grabbed the pair of charging Thrushes and instantly connected them with the desecration of their official vehicle. In record time they were handcuffed and slung into the back seat. By then Napoleon and Illya were halfway up the fire escape at the north end of Williams Hall.

As they pushed in through the door at the end of the second floor hallway, Napoleon found breath to speak. "Illya," he said. "I'm amazed at you. Throwing a paint bomb at a police car. It's your revolutionary heritage coming to the fore."

"It was purely accidental," said Illya with a touch of asperity. "And you know I didn't mean to hit that police car—I was aiming at the other two and overshot."

"Oh,
I
believe you," said Napoleon. "Thousands wouldn't. I only wonder whether Baldwin will."

Illya paled visibly. "He couldn't have noticed. It's nearly dark out there."

"Those were 7x50 binoculars; great for night seeing. And he has a tendency to notice everything."

"Uh, Napoleon—if he didn't notice, you wouldn't tell him."

"Well, after all..."

"I know a few things about you, Napoleon," said Illya uneasily.

"After all, as I was about to say, there's certainly no reason why he ever should."

Illya nodded, relieved. "Let's go back to the box seat and see what the stage crew has done towards sweeping up after the evening's entertainment."

Chapter 12: "Nineteen Sweetpeas And One White Rose."

If Baldwin had observed Illya's penultimate action, he made no mention of it. He had little commentary to make on the defensive battle other than to admit the results were wholly satisfactory. Two arrests had been made—both witnessed by the two UNCLE agents, and for which Illya may have deserved some glory had he not been unwilling to admit his whole share in the business.

All the student participants had escaped by their own routes, and the unnumbered strangers who had whooped in and found more fun than they'd bargained for had vanished back into the night. The police were remaining officially silent on the two Thrushes they had arrested, but it was a safe bet that both were out on some legal pretext in a matter of hours with unimpeachable voices vouching for them and a slap on the wrist from Central when they got home.

The next three days passed in perfect silence except for an occasional remark from Napoleon, whose left ankle had been tightly bandaged to ease a strain he hadn't noticed until he sat down after their retreat to Baldwin's office.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday held the usual round of classes and lab work, with dinner Wednesday in the company of Ed and Chandra. Friday morning started in the same groove, but Lyn had a new bouquet on her desk when they entered the office. Baldwin paused to examine it while Napoleon elbowed Illya.

"Aesthetically, that's a lousy arrangement," he muttered. "The white one in the middle is a rose, but what are those pink things around it?"