He held onto the ironwork banister at the stairs’ head, breathing deeply. Zen, but he was drenched. You had to admit that, all right. He was drenched.
He had better get out and get some fresh air. Either that or go back into the apartment and climb into bed. Yes, that was it, go back into the apartment and get some sleep. He had to wait for Miny…whatever her name was.
But then he turned sly, even as he wavered, holding onto the banister. Now he remembered. She’d hooked him. Amazon style. Tha’s why he hadda get outta this house.
He started down the stairs, as only a drunk can navigate stairs.
He chortled, “Thas what she thinks. She thinks I’m easy. Thas what she thinks. Nice fella like me. I wanta church wedding, thas what I want. With flowers, and dressed in white an all…”
Unbelievably, he made it down the three flights and then to the street. As he left the building, he was singing to himself, “Somethin old, somethin new, somethin borrowed, somethin blue.”
On the street, the fresh air had a small effect on him. Besides that, the change of scene forced him to think anew. He had someplace to go, or he’d better have some place to go. If not, he might as well try to get back up the stairs to the apartment. For a reason he couldn’t put his finger on, he didn’t want to go back to that apartment. Though, come to think of it, that Miny girl wasn’t so bad. She’d got him out of some kind of trouble once, hadn’t she? He knew damn well she had, but it was kind of hazy.
He took a deep breath and started down the street, in the opposite direction from which he had originally approached with Minythyia.
Just as he reached the corner, he heard a hovercar coming up behind him. Oh, oh. He didn’t turn, even when he heard it come to a quick stop before the building. He did a commendable left face, with all a drunk’s cunning, and went down the side street.
Fifty feet further on there was an opening to the left again. A snort of mews, British style. A courtyard at the end with a water fountain. For reason unbeknownst to himself, he headed toward it.
Only half way there the nausea hit him and he was deathly ill. He emptied his insulted stomach into a doorway, feeling like a pig, but still not caring…not caring about anything. When the retching was over, he resumed his way toward the fountain, somewhat steadier. There was something nagging him from within, don’t…leave…the…apartment…under…any…circumstances. But it didn’t seem to make much sense.
There were children playing in the litttle courtyard. He ignored them, stumbled to the water and plunged his head into it. He came up for air. Zen! it was cold and good. He plunged his head back in.
The children were standing around watching him, wide-eyed.
He glowered at them. There were, he realized, both boys and girls. All of them wore either shorts or kilts, nor did the attire seem to be based on sex. Some boys wore shorts, some kilts, so did the girls.
He scooped up water with his hand and drank it. It hit his stomach with a chill and for a moment he was afraid he was going to be sick again.
No, that passed. He decided he’d have to get out of here, but quick. Before one of the kids went running to a parent, or teacher, or whatever, and somebody turned up to investigate him.
By the moment, his true situation was coming back to him. He was still drunk, sodden drunk, but his mind was clearing slowly. He couldn’t allow himself to be picked up. He had to do something, he couldn’t quite remember what.
He retraced his way to the street and turned left on it. What was it he had to do? It came to him in stages. He had to warn somebody about something.
He came to a crossing and paused for a moment, scowling. Two pedestrians passed him, a man and a woman. Once again, their garb was so similar as to be almost identical.
This crossing. He had been here once before. But he couldn’t have been. He shook his head, to clear it further of fumes.
Then it came to him. He had been this way when seeking out the Sons of Liberty.
That was it! He had to warn Zeke and the others. He had babbled their address to his Amazon inquisitors. He had to warn them. Unless it was too late. It probably was too late. The Hippolyte’s warriors had probably descended on the hapless revolutionaries like a flow of lava.
But he had to see. In spite of his own danger, he owed it to the others to make the attempt. He screwed up his face in memory. He wasn’t so very far from the spot where the unknown assassin had shot at him. Yes, it was down this way.
As he walked, his lucidity returned, though he still felt nausea from the wringer through which he had put his body. He had drunk an unbelievable amount of alcohol, in far too short a time. Happily, he had vomited much of it up before it had gotten fully into his bloodstream.
He went down this street, up that, his appearance no longer attracting the atttention of others. In his garb he resembled his fellow pedestrians. It had only been his gait, before, that had singled him out. He looked down at his clothing to see if he had messed it at the height of his illness. No, it was reasonably clean and unwrinkled.
This was where the shooting match had taken place. It looked considerably different in the light of day. He went more slowly. And this was Heliopolis Street. It was to his surprise that he saw no vehicles before Number 35. No vehicles, nor could he spot any of the Hippolyte’s guards. If they were in the vicinity, they would probably be hidden, he realized. But there was nothing he could do about that. He was weaponless and still shaky, but he had to make the attempt.
He pounded on the door, and leaned against it. He was tired from the exercise of his walk, and the drinking had robbed him of considerable strength. He could hear no movement beyond. He pounded again and again.
In exasperation, he tried the knob. The door pushed open.
He went on through. Had the Amazon warriors already been here, and captured the Sons of Liberty on the premises? Were they hidden inside, waiting for more unsuspecting men of the underground to show up? He could readily believe it.
Frowning in memory, he retraced the way Zeke had taken him the night before. They had come along this patio garden. There was still no sound in the building. It gave the place an eerie quality. There was the fountain, it was the fountain, it was less attractive in the full light of day. The house had an unkempt quality. Well, it was a secret underground base, not fundamentally a home.
Here was the sparsely furnished room Zeke had taken him to. He entered, his eyes going around. The bottle of wine and three glasses were still there on the table.
And in a corner, bound, lay the excitable, emotional Lybian Zeke had introduced as Teucer. He was bound and gagged, and his eyes were wide at Ronny’s entrance. He blinked energetically, as though in warning.
Ronny was about to turn, his reflexes still slow, when his assailant hit him from behind.
Even as he fell automatically into a defensive position, he knew the attack was lacking in sophistication. It was the vigorous but unscientific attack of one who had never studied hand-to-hand combat. He ducked and spun right in instinctive counterattack and snagged a section of the other’s garment. He felt a blow against his upper back and ignored it.
Still holding onto the other’s tunic, he spun again, twisting the garment in such a way that one of the enemy’s arms was immobilized. He felt another couple of meaningless blows; the other had a sap, or possibly was using the butt of a shooter, but he was pathetically inept.
It was over almost immediately. Ronny bent and swung, throwing the other heavily against the wall. He heard air escape agonizingly from his opponent’s lungs.
Ronny looked at him shakily for a moment. His eyes still weren’t completely used to the gloom of the unlit room, after coming in from the bright Amazonian sunlight. It was just a kid, a youngster of possibly seventeen or eighteen, and none too large for his age. No wonder he had been so easy to take. His small club, which looked as though it had been improvised from a broom handle, had fallen to the floor. The youngster was unconscious, which wasn’t surprising. Ronny would have been more gentle had he known the other’s age and size.