I opened the door wider and the princess motioned the road-company mastodon in. He in and I have to admit he couldn’t be very bright. In the few minutes that he’d been left alone he’d permitted himself to be covered with spray-can graffiti, all unmistakably obscene. Sabu chirped a little, touched Scented Song with his trunk to reassure himself, and then disappeared as the living room floor collapsed under him with a roar. There he was, down in the basement, trumpeting his fool head off. There were more roars from the drawing room.
“They don’t build houses like they used to,” the princess said. “What’s all that hollering?”
I didn’t have to esplain. Captain Nemo came charging out with his fly open. “Goddamn it, what the hell’s going on? Ahoy, princess. You’ve scared the living daylights out of Laura, Guig. She’s in a red panic. She’s a very sensitive girl.”
“It wasn’t me, Nemo, it was Sabu. He fell down a little.”
Nemo looked down into the basement. “What is it?”
“A Hairy Mastodon,” I said.
“I don’t see any hair.”
“I shave him every morning,” Scented Song said. She seemed a little miffed and I suspected there was going to be rivalry between Sabu and Laura. There was a scratching on the front door. When I opened it I was confronted by a coiled python ringed about seven feet high.
“No rabbits today,” I said. “Come back tomorrow.”
“He does not swallow rabbits,” a familiar voice said with meticulous diction. “He swallows men.”
Long fingers separated two coils and there was M’bantu surrounded by python, smiling at me.
“My favorite Zulu. Come in, McBee. Bring your friend, unless he’s shy.”
“He is not shy, Guig. He is asleep. He will sleep for ten days and then he will be ready for your Dr. Guess. Good afternoon, princess. Captain Nemo. What a pleasant reunion.”
Both of them sniffed and didn’t bother to conceal it. More rivalry. I was warmed by the way the Group was rallying ‘round, but oh! the competition. M’bantu unwrapped the python, which was like fifteen feet long, and draped it gently around one of the archway pillars. It went right on sleeping.
“What’s that bulge in its middle?” Nemo demanded.
“Breakfast,” McBee said courteously, not going into details.
“Does it like fish?”
“Probably prefers elephants,” Scented Song said. “It’s big enough.”
“The next meal will be Dr. Sequoya Guess. That is, with your permission, Guig,” M’b said pleasantly. “He will die most painfully, but what will be even more painful for me will be the sacrifice of my friend to save the doctor. However, che sara sara.”
The front door burst wide with a blaze of sparks and Edison marched in, carrying his toolbox. “Told you these magnetic locks can’t hold, Guig,” he snapped. “How much electric power does this Sachem have in his house? Princess. Nemo. M’bantu. Well?”
“None,” I said. “He lives in a tepee. Strictly Indian style. Thanks for coming, Ed.”
“Then we’ll have to get him here. You’ve got power?”
“I can deliver ten kilowatts.”
“Plenty. You’ve always been behind the times?”
“Conservative. Yes.”
“Conservative kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“Conservative oven?”
“The old-fashioned walk-in type. Yes.”
“Perfect. That’s how we’ll get him.” Edison opened his toolbox and yanked out a blueprint. “Look at this.”
“Just tell us, Ed.”
“We rewire it, power it, turn it into a magnetic induction furnace.”
“What’s that?”
“It melts metal; nothing else. Only conductive metals. Understand?”
“So far.”
“Put in your hand and you feel nothing. But if you’ve got a ring on your finger, the ring will melt and burn your finger off. Induction.”
“Phew. That sounds grisly.”
“Doesn’t it? Get the Indian into your oven. We start the induction slow and the torture begins.”
“You mean his fingers burn off?”
“No. The brain begins to burn. Bugged, isn’t he?”
“No.”
“Bugs are platinum.” Obviously Ed wasn’t hearing me. “Platinum is conductive. QED.”
At this point the other three, who had been listening utterly fascinated, burst out laughing. They shrieked and rocked helplessly while Edison glared at them. It looked as though this loyal rally was going to turn into a Donnybrook Fair and I’d get nowhere with the murder of Sequoya. I was wondering how to make peace when Fee-5, bless her, called and asked if she could project. I said come ahead and there she was in a starched white lab coat looking every inch the dedicated young scientist.
“He wants you to come to JPL right away,” she burst out in XX. Then she looked around. “Oh, sorry, cats. I didn’t know there was company. Am I intruding?” still in XX.
“All gung, Fee. All friends. As a matter of fact we were just discussing the Chief. Now what’s all this?”
“There’s an elephant in the cellar. Did you know?”
“Yes, we know.”
“And a snake up there.”
“We know. Also an octopus in the drawing room. Why does Dr. Guess want me to come to JPL right away?”
She took fire again. “The event of the century. The experimental cryocapsule will put down in an hour. Three cryonauts have been out in orbit for three months and now they’re coming back. All the celebs from U-Con will be there and the Chief wants you, too.”
“Why me? I’m not celebrated. I don’t even own any stock in United Conglomerate.”
“He likes you. I don’t know why. Nobody else does.”
“Well, ask him if I can bring four friends.”
Fee nodded and retro’d. The others protested that they weren’t faintly interested in the event of the century; they’d witnessed too many in their time and they were always a let down. All of them began bitching simultaneously; about the Boxer rebellion, Franklin and his kite, Captain Bligh and the Bounty, Henry Christophe. I tried to break it up. “You don’t understand,” I told them. “I couldn’t care less about those frozen characters coming in for a landing, but this is a golden opportunity to case the guy we’re going to kill. Don’t you want to size up your victim?”
Fee reappeared. “It’s gung, Guig. He says the more the merrier. You can bring the elephant if you like. I’ll meet you at the front gate and pass you in.” She disappeared.
As we trooped up to the roof (elephant not included) to get into the big chopper, they were all delivering asides.
“Who is she?”
“Sam says he’s had her for three years.”
“One of yours, M’bantu?”
“Alas, I would say not. She is too light. Most probably Maori and Aztec Indian with a strong strain of Honk. It’s the touch of the Waspbrush that accounts for the delicate bones.”
“Guig always likes them exotic.”
“Behind the times all his life.”
“She is pretty.”
“And as nubile as a young dolphin.”
“I wonder how many he’s scored.”
“Sam would know.”
I was delivering a few asides to myself: How the hell did Fee-5 know my guests understood XX? I had the uneasy feeling that there was a lot more I didn’t know about Fee. I also had a sinking that this Cherokee caper was going to turn into the wrong kind of catastrophe. I wanted to go to the university hospital and ask Jacy to move over.
3
We were mugged by some senior citizens on the way from the chopper to the main gate, but no great harm done; they were using vintage revolvers. There was one funny incident. After we chased them I looked around and there was Nemo kneeling on a prostrate maladroit and sincere as hell. He was slamming the Shortie across the face with his own pistol and chanting in rhythm, “This is not… the road to… survival… You must… transplant… transplant… transplant…”
We pulled him off the poor old Shortie and were met at the gate by Fee, who seemed rather impressed by Nemo’s performance. Muggings she knew all about, but this was the first time she’d ever seen one used as an excuse for a lecture. Fee conducted us to the landing site and it was my turn to be impressed.