The World Shuffler (20 page)

“Well, back again, hey, pal?” Rodolpho’s physical-persuasion specialist greeted O’Leary cheerfully as four guards dumped him, more dead than alive, on a wooden bench near the fireplace in which half a dozen sets of tongs and pincers were glowing a cozy cherry red.

“Mnnnrrgghhh,” O’Leary mumbled through stiff lips, crouching nearer the blaze. “Just give me heat, even if it’s my own feet burning.”

“Anything to oblige, chum. Now, lessee, where were we?” Groanwelt rubbed a hand over his bristled chin with a sound like tearing canvas. “We could start out wit’ a little iron work, like you suggested, then move on to a few strokes o’ the cat, just to get the old circulation going good, and wind up the session wit’ a good stretch on the rack to take the kinks out. How’s it sound?”

“A well-balanced program, no doubt,” Lafayette mumbled. “Could you stoke up this fire a little first?”

“That’s the spirit, kid. Say, on the other hand, maybe you’d like to try the new equipment I just got in since you was here: a swell hydraulic-type joint press, roller bearings throughout. A versatile outfit: handles everything from hip sockets to knuckles. But maybe we better save that and the automatic skinning machine for last; they’re kind of permanent, if you know what I mean. We don’t want you graduating on us before we get the dope, which the duke wants it pretty bad.”

“It’s not the duke, it’s that sneaky little Krupkin who thinks I’m going to spill a lot of secrets,” Lafayette corrected the P.P.S. “Listen, Groanwelt, as a loyal Melanger, you should be fighting Krupkin, not helping him. His scheme is to take over the whole country and use it as a base of operations to launch an attack on Artesia!”

“Politics,” Groanwelt said apologetically, “was never a big hobby wit’ me. I mean, administrations come and go, but the need for a skilled specialist remains constant—”

“Don’t you have any patriotism?” O’Leary challenged. “This man’s a maniac! He’ll loot Melange of everything useful: food, weapons, raw materials—and—”

“Sure, fella. But look, OK if we get started? You can talk while I work. How’s about getting the shirt off and stepping over here so’s I can buckle you up in working position?”

“C-couldn’t I just toast my toes for a few minutes longer?”

“Good notion. I’ll help you off wit’ the boots, and we’ll strap the ankles up nice to hold ‘em in optimum position. Too close, and you get a lot o’ smoke; too far, and you don’t get the full effect, like—”

“On second thought, why don’t I tell you whatever you want to know right now, and save you all that effort?” O’Leary suggested hurriedly. “Where shall I start? With my arrival on top of the windmill, two weeks ago? Or was it three? Or should I go farther back, to when I had everything in the world any sane man could want, and it wasn’t enough? Or—”

“Hey, hey, hold on, pal!” Groanwelt lowered his voice, looking around nervously. “What you trying to do, put me out o’ business?”

“Not at all, but it just happens I’m in a talkative mood this evening—”

“It’s morning. Geeze, kid, you’re out o’ touch.”

“Yes, morning, evening, it doesn’t matter, I love to talk night and day. Now, as I was saying—”

“Shhhh!” The P.P.S. laid a thick finger across his poonched-out lips. “Have a heart! You want to lose me the best post on the ducal staff? You go blowing your gaff wit’out me even laying a iron to you, and somebody’s going to start getting ideas about redundant personnel. At my age, I can’t take no RIF, kid. So be a sweet guy and button it up, hah?”

“I ... I’ll tell you what,” Lafayette proposed, eyeing the smoking forceps in the technician’s hairy fist. “You hold off with the irons for a few minutes—just until I do a few yoga exercises to heighten my appreciation of your virtuosity—and I’ll try to bottle up the speech I want to make.”

“Say, that’s white o’ you, neighbor!”

“Think nothing of it, Groanwelt. Glad to be helpful. By the way, do you have any idea what became of the young lady who arrived when I did?”

“Oh, her? Yeah. Say, cleaned up, she wouldn’t be a bad-looking little piece, you know? I think I seen the boys handing her over to the housekeeper. Seems like your pal Prince Krupkin’s got some kind o’ special plans for her.” Groanwelt winked.

“The rat,” Lafayette snarled between his teeth.

“Groanwelt, you seem like a decent sort of chap: are you going to sit quietly by while that unprincipled crook carries out his plans right over your head, without a word?”

The P.P.S. sighed. “Yeah, I know, the idealism o’ yout’. You young guys think you can cure the world o’ its ills. But as you get a little older, you find out it ain’t so easy. Me, I’ve settled for the pride o’ craftsmanship: the integrity o’ the skilled technician. I give every job the best that’s in me, no shoddy work to have to be ashamed of later. I mean, when people are looking at a project o’ mine, I want to be able to hold my head up, right? Speaking o’ which, maybe we better start in; old Rodolpho’s likely to show up any minute to check on progress—”

“He just did,” a cold voice spoke up. The P.P.S. whirled to see Duke Rodolpho glowering at him from the doorway.

“Geeze!” he exclaimed. “I sure wish you wouldn’t come pussyfooting up on a guy that way, y’er Grace! You give me such a start, I ain’t sure I can go on wit’ my work.” He held up his hands, studying them for tremors.

“Never mind that,” Rodolpho snapped. “You’re about to be honored by a visit from his Highness. Now tighten up here and try to make a good impression ...” The duke turned as bustlings sounded from the corridor behind him.

“Ah, right this way, my dear prince,” he said through a forced smile. “A modest installation, but fully equipped—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” Krupkin cut him off, sauntering into view attended by a pair of lackeys who seemed to be trying to shine his shoes at full gallop. His sharp eyes swept the chamber, fell on Lafayette. He grunted.

“Leave us, Rudy,” he ordered offhandedly. “And take these pests with you,” he added, kicking at the fellow attempting to adjust the hang of his robes. “You stay,” he addressed Groanwelt.

“But I haven’t had a chance to show you the newly equipped forcing vats yet—” Rodolpho protested.

“You have our leave to withdraw!” Krupkin/Goruble barked. As the rest of the party hastily evacuated the room, the prince came over to O’Leary, who rose to face him. The ex-king looked him up and down, glanced at the ring on his finger. He hooked his thumbs in the broad, bejeweled belt encircling his middle and thrust out his lower lip.

“All right, Sir Lafayette,” he said in a tone inaudible to the P.P.S., who hovered uncomfortably in the background, polishing an iron boot. “Last chance. Your value to me, minus your former abilities, is small, but still, your cooperation might smooth my path a trifle. I’ve spent the last few hours reviewing my plans, and have realized that I’ve been thinking too small. Conquer Melange, indeed! As you pointed out, the place is a pesthole. But new vistas have opened themselves. Your presence here shows me the way. It was your meddling that lost me my throne in Artesia. Now you’ll help me recover it.”

“Don’t talk like a boob,” O’Leary said tiredly. “After what you tried to do to Adoranne, the people would throw stones at you if you ever showed your face in Artesia, even if you could get hack there, which I doubt.”

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 of 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 clamly, 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 try to use her to impersonate Adoranne?” He smiled pityingly. “Wise 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 in 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-á-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 your 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 longstanding 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.