"Never mind all that, Squirrely, I'm in charge o' this detail," a deeper voice cut in. "Hold it. We're closing fast."
Lafayette and Marv ducked aside into the concealment of a mass of foliage. At first he thought it was Trog: a stocky little man in worn leathers, carrying an immense backpack and wearing a jaunty red cap adorned with a bedraggled white owl's feather, appeared on the path ahead. He was frowningly studying a compass, which he shook repeatedly in an irritated manner.
"Damn that know-all Pinchcraft," he muttered. "I told him he was weak on theory on this one. 'Don't give it a thought, Roy', he says to me. 'I personally guarantee the tagalong out to six parameters, anyway'. Nuts and bolts! According to this thing, we're practically falling over him right now—and all I see is more o' this lousy poison-ivy patch!"
"Sprawnroyal!" O'Leary cried and burst forth squarely in the little man's path. The dwarf recoiled; then, seeing Lafayette's face, grinned from one oversized ear to the other and advanced to embrace him.
"Slim O'Leary, as I live and breathe!" he gasped. Then, turning to his companions who now formed a huddle like a cluster of gargoyles, "Boys, meet my old pal Sir Lafayette, which he's a right guy even if he is built like a beanpole." He gave Lafayette an abashed look. "Sorry, Slim, you know it ain't like me to, like, draw attention to a fella's build and all. I know there's some might think us boys from Ajax were a little on the sawed-off side our own selfs. Glad to see you, Slim! But what are you doing in this neck o' the woods? Meet the boys:. Squirrely, Casper, and Rugadoon—Security Section, you know."
O'Leary shook three calloused hands and asked how things were back at the Ajax Novelty Works.
"Slow," Roy admitted gravely. "Frankly, Slim, we ain't never really what ya might say recovered from the trimming Prince Krupkin gave us on the Glass Tree job. Which reminds me—" He slapped pockets, found and extracted a small note pad which he rifled, then applied a stubby forefinger to a well-scribbled page.
"Slim, you remember old Flimbert, our security boss. Well, he's got a bee in his bonnet you still got equipment issued on a short-turn trial basis. He's nuts, I told him so myself. I remember when you turned in the two-man rug and the blackout cloak and all. Still, Flimbert says we're spose to bring you in. Pretty silly, eh?"
"Not really," Lafayette admitted. "It seems I advertently failed to turn in the flat-walker—left it in an inside pocket of a garment I don't wear much."
"Oh, no sweat, Slim. Hand it over and we'll be on the way." Roy studied the compasslike device in his hand. "This thing is still giving us a bum steer," he said. "According to this, I'm face-to-face with Commercial Enemy Number One, Slim, and there's nobody here but you." Sprawnroyal scratched his head, his lumpy features registering deep puzzlement. He turned to his friends. "Well boys, I'm stumped," he admitted. "Any ideas?"
"Sure, Roy," Squirrely replied promptly. "Put the arm on this old pal of yours, and we can be back in time for late chow."
"What, me pinch my own old comrade?" Roy demurred in a shocked tone.
"Actually," Lafayette said, "the idea isn't wholly reprehensible, Roy; I could use some chow myself—and frankly, I'd like to get out of this silly 'mission' I'm supposed to be on."
"That's very reasonable of you, Slim," Roy said. "Better a cosy cell back at the plant than this wilderness, eh? Let's go." He turned to Casper. "How's it look, Cas old boy?"
Casper shook his head dolefully. "Still can't get a reading, Roy," he reported glumly. "We must be outa emergency range, too." He pocketed the instrument he had been holding in his hand, its dials all frozen at null reading.
Roy turned to Lafayette. "We got a little problem area here, Slim," he said sorrowfully. "We shifted out with the new Mark II phase coordinator, a tagalong, you know. Spose to stick like a burr. Brand-new model. Frankly, the Mark I had bugs, and now it looks like maybe the Mark II ain't much better. Shifted us out OK, but now it acts like it don't wanta work—like, no power—and it drawing direct from the Primary grid, too. Don't figger."
"Things are screwy all over," Lafayette replied. "I was just sitting in the garden with Daphne—you remember Daphne—and suddenly we were here, and I haven't seen her since."
"Tough," Roy commiserated. "Swell looker, too, if you like 'em that high—and I know you do. Built, too. Well, why not look around for her. She probably just went back inside the palace, eh?"
"There's no palace," Lafayette reported. "Just ruins. Except for the tower—"
"That's it!" Roy cut in. "We duck up to the old lab and get Central on the hook."
"No go." Lafayette shook his head. "It's guarded by two or more sets of morons that are afraid to go near it and won't let anybody inside."
"This ain't good, Slim," Roy conceded. "When I seen you, I figgered we were home safe, but if you're as lost as we are ..."
"Same here," Lafayette agreed. "I assumed you could use one of those neat Ajax gadgets you fellows manufacture and get me out of here—but I can't really leave until I've found Daph, and I've already lost track of Aphasia I, the locus I last saw her in. This is Aphasia II."
"Have you tried focusing the old psychical energies, like you usta?" Roy cut in eagerly. "Maybe you could get back and get word to HQ to work up a Mark III and get us outa here."
"I've pulled off a few small tricks," Lafayette said. "I think. They could have been coincidences. But I can give it a try."
"Atta boy," Sprawnroyal said enthusiastically, clapping O'Leary on the back. "Go to it, kid, which me and the boys will wait right here for the relief party." He paused, frowning thoughtfully. "While you're there, maybe you could pass the word to Chief Pratwick that this Duke Whateveritis is as good as cuffed. As soon as we know we got a route outa here, we'll close in on him."
"Wait a minute," Lafayette interrupted. "What was that name again? Duke who?"
"Lessee." Roy pulled at his chin. "Kind of a screwy name: I guess I don't remember exactly. But the boys back at the lab have pinned enough on him to keep him on the treadmill for the next two glacial epochs."
"It wouldn't be Duke Bother-Be-Damned, I suppose," O'Leary offered.
"That's it! How'd you know, Slim? Lemme guess: you're on the same job, which is how you come to be out here outside o' your regular jurisdiction, like. No offence: we can use all the help we can get."
"Hold it," Lafayette cut in. "I wasn't sent here to nail this duke; that's something a local boss who calls himself General Frodolkin dreamed up. I'm supposed to lay this Duke Bother-Be-Damned by the heels, single-handed, and I don't even know where to find him."
"Frodolkin, huh? Seems to me like I heard the name." Roy got out his notebook and ran through it quickly. "Yep, here it is: ... a mythical figure known in many loci, regarded by some scholars as a personification of the antisocial impulse!"
"This one's real," Lafayette corrected. "He's a medium-tall cutthroat wearing a beatup Artesian uniform."
"Artesian, eh?" Roy looked thoughtful. "From your old stamping ground, eh, Slim? Maybe he came along when you switched lines."
"I doubt it," Lafayette replied. "First there was an even raunchier character named Trog. While I was in the Tower, Frodolkin ran him off, apparently."
"I heard that, Al!" the familiar voice of Trog cried from the underbrush. "Get them hands up, all you guys!" Trog swaggered into view, a gang of unshaven louts twice his height at his heels. He halted at the sight of Roy and his entourage.
"Well, if it ain't my old pal, Sprawnie hisself," he declaimed, striding forward to offer a calloused palm to the astonished Ajax rep, who jumped back.
"You!" Roy exclaimed. "Troglouse III! A deserter! Grab him, boys!" As the three little men leaped to seize the other little man, the latter's troops stepped in and laid about them with knouts, driving them back. Lafayette grabbed the club from the hands of one of the attackers and laid it across its owner's head; then the world exploded in white light. The light faded to a featureless gray. "Not again," Lafayette groaned, getting to his feet long enough to. collapse into the chair Frumpkin had occupied on his last ghostly dream-visit. Then Daphne approached out of dimness, carrying a bulldog pipe in one hand, a pair of outrageously beaded scarlet slippers in the other. She came close, hardly glancing at O'Leary. He started up, calling her name. She seemed not to hear, but looked around in a confused way.