There was a sound from the dense underbrush; then Marv, moving uncertainly, emerged into view. He had the appearance of a survivor of some disaster.
He eyed O'Leary warily, then looked aside, angling off as if to skirt his position rather than approaching.
"Where is everybody, Marv?" Lafayette called, his voice shocking even himself as it broke the eerie stillness. Marv shied and scuttled on. O'Leary called him back.
"Over here, Marv," he ordered. "We need to have a little talk." The former bodyguard paused and then obediently edged toward the chair, not looking at Lafayette. He reminded O'Leary of an oft-beaten dog with a guilty conscience.
"Glad to see you got clear, Yer Lordship," Marv muttered.
"Clear of what?" O'Leary demanded.
"Too bad me and Omar din't stay inside like you said —but climbing them stairs was too much. Like, not only is a guy sticking his neck out, but I and old Omar was getting pretty winded, too. So, when we heard the bugle go, natcherly we hadda report in on the double— just in time to watch Frodolkin's boys drag old Trog outa his fancy chair, which I think he'd pop a gusset if he could see you setting in it now, Sir Al."
"I'm Sir Lafayette, not 'Al', O'Leary snapped. "What's happened here? Where's Trog?"
"Like I was tryna say, sir—they got him. Prolly got him hung up by the heels right now, squeezing his secrets outa him. Onney it'll take a while, 'cause he ain't got none—secrets, I mean."
"Who's this Frodolkin you mentioned—and where?" O'Leary insisted. "I need to see the head man here, and if Trog's been replaced by Frodolkin, then he's the one I have to see—and in a hurry."
Marv scratched at his unkempt scalp with a fingernail like a black-rimmed banjo pick. "Lessee," he muttered, "he might be back at camp, celebrating the big victory and all—or maybe he's out scouting his new territory, kinda sizing up what he got here. Beats me."
"Listen, Marv," O'Leary said urgently, rising and going closer to the ragged fellow, who was intent now on capturing a flea. "Just before I showed up," O'Leary insisted, "didn't you see a girl—a lovely young woman with dark hair, wearing a silver-lame gown and a blue velvet cloak that's too big for her? It's my cloak, you see; I just put it around her so she wouldn't get soaked in the rain. You must have seen her! She was only a few seconds ahead of me."
"Not a chanst, Al. A dame to fit that description ain't been seen in these parts since last Saint Filbert's Day anyways. And if she was, she'd of been grabbed by the first guy seen her. We ain't seen nobody. Forget it, pal. It's a nice delusion, but it just won't stand up. Why not go on down to town and find yerself one o' them nice friendly broads hangs around Ye Gut Bucket Bar and Grill?"
"Because Daphne's here, and I mean to find her," Lafayette replied staunchly. "How many of Trog's men can you round up in a hurry?"
"Depends what for," Marv replied lazily. "If it's easy and pays good, a lotta the boys'll volunteer, just outa sheer altruism. What you got in mind, Al?"
"For the last time," O'Leary snapped. "I'm not Al!"
"You come outa the Dread Tower, din't ya?" Marv countered.
"Of course, but—"
"You saying Allegorus don't hang around the Tower?" Marv challenged.
"Well, no," Lafayette conceded. "He dropped in while I was there, as a matter of fact."
"What I don't figger," Marv confided, rubbing his unshaven jaw with a horny palm, "is hows come you don't use some o' them snazzy tricks which you're justly famous for and all, to locate this Daffy broad you're hung up on."
"I wish I could," Lafayette mourned. "But ever since they focused the suppressor on me"—his thought continued after his voice faded—"still, I did handle old Trog pretty well when he was all set to give me the works. Maybe if I really concentrate—"
"Hey, Al, don't go working no spells while I'm around, OK?" Marv broke into his reverie. "I'm skeered o' witchcraft and like that. So just wait'll I take cover. Hark! What's that?"
"That's I and my boys putting the arm on you, dumdum," an unfamiliar voice replied to Marv's rhetorical question. A big fellow wearing a faded and patched but recognizable uniform resembling that of the Royal Artesian Pioneer Corps stepped from the underbrush, holding in his fist a naked short-sword with which he whacked idly at the obstructing brush.
"Uh-oh," Marv said in a stricken tone. "General Frodolkin hisself, if I ain't mistaken."
"None other, Marv," the great man acknowledged.
"Chee, sir," Marv said in tones of wonder. "Hows come Yer Worship to know my name and all?"
"Surely you recall, Marv: Last fall you turned your coat and for some days were one of my most trusted retainers. Unfortunately, after that you blotted your copybook badly by turning it again and redefecting to the upstart Trog with my second best dirk—with sheath—and wild tales of an imminent attack by me."
"I can explain, Yer Lordship," Marv came back uncertainly. "See, I got a idea to spy out old Trog, which he never did appreciate my loyal service, and come back to tip you off, which ya could beat him to the punch."
"Umm," Frodolkin murmured. "A matter into which my PPS will inquire later. Now, who's your companion here? Didn't I hear you call him Allegorus?"
"Ya could've," Marv conceded.
"Capital!" Frodolkin cried. "I have need of your services, sir," he went on, looking at Lafayette directly for the first time. Then he turned to yell over his shoulder: "George! Iron-Head Mike! Take me this pair at once! On the double!"
In response to this bellow, two surly louts came thrusting through the screen of trees, glowering. At sight of O'Leary, they moved in eagerly. At that moment, it occurred forcibly to O'Leary that he had definitely been hasty in leaving the shelter of the laboratory.
"No rough stuff yet, boys," Frodolkin said, easing into their path. "I got a use for this prisoner," he explained, deftly palming off the nearer of the two heavies. "Now, you just quiet down, George," he admonished. "You'll have your chance to hear bones breaking later, if he fails to cooperate."
"Aw, these pansies wit' clean fingernails always cooperates easy," George complained.
"Yeah," Iron-Head agreed, nodding his unkempt mop soberly. "We ain't had no fun since that little sap-sucker in the fancy britches come pokin' around here, Monday a week."
Frodolkin turned to Lafayette. "Well, you see how the wind blows, sir," he said silkily. "So, what is it to be? Gracious cooperation, or grudging cooperation? I assure you, in the end the result will be the same, so you'd be wise to cultivate a bit of good will on my part by willingly performing the trifling task I have in mind for you."
"Say, Al," Marv muttered conspiratorially from the side of his mouth, "this here'd be a swell time for you to pull one of them nifties outer yer sleeve, OK?"
"Sorry, General," Lafayette said, ignoring Marv. "First I have to find Daphne—she's lost here somewhere ... Have you seen a beautiful brunette wearing a blue velvet cloak? Probably scared to death, poor kid."
"If I had," Frodolkin responded, "I'd not be here now, nattering of trifles—not that your presence is to be regarded lightly."
Lafayette was thinking furiously: if he could manage just one little trick now ... After all, he didn't absolutely know there wasn't a squad of the Royal Artesian Household Guard concealed in the brush, awaiting the moment to move in on these interlopers ... He concentrated on the details of their red-and-blue uniforms with gold-braided white lapels, fancy-dress sabers hanging beside polished boots ...
O'Leary blinked hard as a sudden vertigo seemed to blur his vision. Then he was back in the dim gray room. He looked around eagerly for another glimpse of Daphne, but before he could complete his scan, Frumpkin hurried up, glass in hand.