"Sorry about the interruption, my boy," he said hastily, "but as you see, my enemies are everywhere —the blind fools! Now, as soon as you've decided to be reasonable..."
Before Lafayette could reply scathingly, the dim light faded and winked out. Frumpkin's voice continued for a moment; then sunlight dazzled O'Leary.
There was a crackle of breaking twigs, and a paunchy villein in a soiled red-and-blue coat staggered into view, a decapitated wine bottle clamped in one gnarled fist. A battered saber sheath dragged the ground, its gold-braided decorations dangling in snarled loops.
"Oops, par' me, General," he said blurrily. "Have a li'l drinkie?" He proffered the bottle, which Frodolkin struck aside before George could reach it.
Almost, Lafayette told himself. I came close, but my focus seems to be a bit off. Still, it's a start.
"How's about it, Al?" Marv persisted. "How about a neat one, like the time you turned youself into a big bird? Or the time you had the flying carpet and all?" '
"Not today, Marv," O'Leary said brusquely. Then to Frodolkin, who had turned the newcomer bodily and with a shove headed him back whence he had come, "Sorry, General. I'm just here for a few hours, and I have some very Urgent business to attend to. But, just out of curiosity, what is this boon you're craving of me?"
"As to that," Frodolkin replied, "it happens that at present I find it necessary to chastise a rogue known as Duke Bother-Be-Damned, a chore for which I can ill afford to allocate my own valuable time just now. Ergo, I wish you to bring the scoundrel to heel on my behalf."
"Why should I do your dirty work?" Lafayette asked reasonably.
"Aside from George and Iron-Head Mike, there are a number of reasons," Frodolkin stated flatly.
"Sorry," Lafayette said. "I don't have time. Actually, I think I'll just nip back into the Tower for a moment; it seems I forgot something."
"Indeed you did, Sir Allegorus," Frodolkin agreed with a wave of his hand, which drew O'Leary's attention to a nearly solid ring of unshaven ruffians now surrounding the clearing.
"OK, now!" Marv hissed in the direction of O'Leary's ear. "Don't lemme down pal, after I sided witcha an all," he whined.
"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?" Lafayette demanded of Frodolkin, ignoring Marv plucking at his sleeve.
"Supposition does not enter into the matter," Frodolkin replied coolly. "As for 'some kind of threat', I think the nature of the threat is obvious enough." At his nod, Iron-Head Mike took a step closer to O'Leary.
"Perhaps," Frodolkin said, "after you've completed your mission, I'll consider permitting you to revisit yon fell ruin—though why you should desire to do so is, I confess, a riddle."
"Look, General," Lafayette said desperately. "You don't get it. I'm not just some picnicker you happened to roust. I've got to get back to the lab—it's my only link, maybe, with Central and Artesia. And meanwhile, my wife, Daphne ... uh, Countess Daphne to you, is out here somewhere, lost in this crazy jungle full of maniacs!"
"The Countess, eh?" Frodolkin echoed. He turned to the nearest of his bodyguard. "Any of you boys seen the Countess around?" he inquired in a bored tone.
"Uh, Chief, old Mel-the-Smell's got him a sow he calls Dutchess," a whiskery fellow volunteered doubtfully.
"He don't mean no pig," Iron-Head dismissed the suggestion. "He means a dame, a real snazzy piece too, eh, kid?" He leered at Lafayette and belched comfortably. "Maybe we're missing a bet at that, Chief, not collecting duh broad."
Now's the time, Lafayette told himself grimly. He eyed the seven-foot bruiser, thinking of the heavy lunch of lobster-tails and pizza the big fellow might well have gulped down half an hour ago. Focus the old psychic energies, he urged himself. Was there a slight flicker, or did he imagine it? He looked at Iron-Head Mike.
A stricken expression crossed the blunted features of the bodyguard. He put one large hand tenderly against his abdomen. His color was no longer good.
"What's wrong, Iron-Head?" Lafayette inquired genially. "You look hungry. How about a pizza and a gallon of warm sweet port?"
Iron-Head shuddered, looking distinctly green now.
"What's all this about pizza?" Frodolkin demanded. "I've warned you fellows to stay out of my private mess tent. You wouldn't appreciate the subtleties of smoked oysters, caviar, escargots, artichoke hearts, pickled onions, and rare wines; that's why I sequester such comestibles as my portion of our forage."
"Ulp," Iron-Head said blurrily, using both hands now.
Oh, boy, Lafayette said to himself, feeling a surge of enthusiasm. It's just like the old days, like the time Count Alain was trying to keep me from getting to know Adoranne. I'm back in business!
"Hey, Mike," George said, emerging into view from the underbrush with his unshaved jaws working hard and holding in his unwashed paw a vast sandwich minus one sizable crescent.
"Wanna bite o' my sardine-peaner-butter-and-ba-nana samidge?" he inquired, offering the construction, the edges of which oozed ketchup and mayonnaise—or possibly blood and brains, Lafayette reflected, averting his eyes. Iron-Head passed him at a trot, bound for the shelter of a raggedly overgrown hibiscus hedge whence there emanated almost at once sounds reminiscent of a brontosauras in labor, combined with the eruption of a small volcano. As Frodolkin stared concernedly after his stricken minion, Lafayette unobtrusively edged off toward the vine-grown and mildew-stained tower still, surprisingly, looming above the trees against the clear morning sky. He was halfway there when Marv's voice overtook him.
"Hey, where ya goin', boss? Not back inside the Dread Tower, huh? I mean, I been inside wunst and got out in one piece—I ain't innerested in, like, tempting fate and all by venturin there again!"
"Certainly, Marv," O'Leary replied firmly. "That's where the action is. Come on." Even as he spoke, O'Leary heard his voice take on a hollow, echoic quality. Mist was settling in, blurring things, and again he saw the gray room around him. Frumpkin rose from an overstuffed chair, and at once Lafayette grabbed his arm, no longer clad in coarse gray, he noticed, but in the elegant silver-trimmed black he had worn in the Tower.
"Where's Daphne?" O'Leary demanded. Frumpkin jerked his arm free and spoke to someone out of sight behind O'Leary. He heard a movement, ducked too late, and fell endlessly; he struck hard, and the light of day glared around him.
"Grab them, lads!" Frodolkin's command cracked like a whip. Lafayette turned as Marv hurried back the way he had come, giving a wide berth to George who was advancing supporting Iron-Head Mike, who came protesting. As they approached, O'Leary stepped close to Mike.
"You may have an iron head," he said, "but I'll bet you've got a glass gut." He feinted a jab to the midriff; the big fellow staggered back, hands extended, fingers spread as if to fend off an advancing juggernaut.
"Have a heart, pal," he groaned. "I ain't in my best form right now, OK? So maybe I'll give ya a break this time, see? I'll just play like I din't hear him."
As Lafayette eased around the giant and continued quickly across the broken flagstones to the no-longer-collapsed doorway, Marv caught his arm. He turned to shake him loose, and from behind him an iron clamp closed on his shoulder, yanked him inside, and dropped him. The door slammed and he was in darkness.
The darkness lightened and he caught a glimpse of the wide, featureless gray room. Daphne stood a few feet away, dressed in a gown of pale yellow Lafayette had never before seen. He croaked her name. She turned, seemed to look through him, and walked away to be lost in dimness. Frumpkin hurried up. "This won't do, you know, my boy," he said in mild reprimand. "We must come to terms."