"In the wrecked car," Marv suggested, nudging Lafayette in the direction of the overturned roadster half-buried in mud and sand. When they were close enough for Lafayette to see the chrome-plated cranks on the cherry-red dash for opening the headlight covers, a sound from the hulk brought them to an abrupt halt.
"Somebody in there," Marv said.
"Or hiding behind it," Lafayette suggested.
A blurry voice contradicted him. "Never hid from no wight in my life, by my halidom!" Then a bulky, menacing figure rose from behind the long hood of the formerly elegant vehicle.
"Just catching a little rest is all," the deep voice went on. "Spot of bother, damned tidal wave washed me right off the king's highroad. But bother be damned! I'll find the scamps responsible for broaching the dam and see them hanged on the windy tree for nights full nine!"
Lafayette took a hesitant step forward. "Uh, sir," he began, at which the mud-coated, bulletlike head of the stranger turned as if noticing him for the first time.
"Are you Duke Bother-Be-Damned, by any chance?" Lafayette blurted.
"By no chance, sirrah, but by proof of single combat!" His Grace roared, groping for the hilt of an oversized sword. "But bide thee until I get this damned muck out of me eyes," he added more calmly, "and I'll prove it on your person."
"That won't be necessary, Your Grace," Lafayette said. Then to Marv, "We're back on the track; this is the chap I was setting out to find when everything got confusing."
"I be no 'chap', the duke bellowed. "You sought me, did you? You'll rue the day you found me, wittol!" The mud-coated nobleman took a step back and at once toppled sideways with a splash that sent a sheet of mud across the scarlet lacquer of the fender, spattering both Lafayette and Marv. The latter slapped at the mud globules sliding down his soaked trench coat, and turned away.
"Come on, Al," he urged. "I guess we'll just hafta go in right in plain sight and take our chances."
"Wait," Lafayette countered. He squelched around past the crushed radiator shell of the Auburn and stooped to lend a hand to the fallen duke, who lay on his back, his arms and legs moving aimlessly like an overturned beetle. Lafayette caught one hand: the duke's grip, though slippery, was powerful. Lafayette winced even as he heaved backward, and was rewarded with a sudden lessening of the load as the duke sat up with a loud sucking sound.
"Again!" the nobleman commanded, as he strove without success to raise his seat from the grip of the mud.
"Get your feet under you," Lafayette suggested. The big man complied and in a moment was standing, towering over Lafayette's two meters by at least half a foot.
"You have our thanks, Sir Knight," the featureless head said, brushing a forearm across the muddy brow with a metallic clank.
"You're wearing armor," Lafayette guessed aloud. "No wonder you're so heavy."
"Aye," the armored duke agreed. "In these parlous times you pretty near gotta. Woods are full of brigands which they'd assault the very bitch that bore them, onney the woods is gone now." He waved a hand. "Useta be fine country for the chase of hart and boar," he commented sadly. "Then the big flood come and ain't never went down." He eyed O'Leary doubtfully. "Who're you?" he demanded abruptly. "Never seen you before, nor your squire yonder neither." The duke's hand had wandered to the muddy hilt of the six-foot broadsword slung at his side. "If you be the warlock that brought the doom on all Aphasia," he rumbled, "dire shall be thy fate."
"Not me, Duke," Lafayette said briskly. "Actually I was caught in the flood myself. Did you say 'Aphasia'?"
"Art a warlock, then?" Duke Bother-Be-Damned growled. "The waters rose these three hundred winters since. No living Christian man could have seen that day. Speak! Dost claim mastery of the black art?"
"Only a few card tricks," Lafayette explained apologetically.
"Card magic, eh? Meseems I've a pack of pasteboards back at my ducal seat; necromancy is illegal, of course, but in a good cause I'd wink my eye and reward you of my largesse as well. Come along, fellow. I'll send a troop of menials along for the car." He turned and set off without awaiting O'Leary's assent, then halted suddenly and turned ponderously.
"If ye be a creature of the infamous Trog," he barked, "be assured I'll lay the rascal by the heels ere he knows of your treachery."
"You know Trog?" Lafayette gasped. "That's wonderful; it means I really am back in Aphasia—not the same locus where I lost Daphne, of course—that disappeared several days ago by now, I suppose, if Belarius wasn't lying."
"See here, fellow," the Duke said heartily. "Though thy wits be scrambled somewhat, tis manifest, still thou had'st the wit to rally to my side, rather than having at me in cowardly fashion when I lay entrapped in the muck yonder. So I graciously extend my hand in friendship, be ye ever so base of birth."
"I'm Sir Lafayette O'Leary," Lafayette said stiffly, accepting the duke's muddy hand. "And once rightful king of Artesia, withal."
"Oh. OK, no offence," the duke replied. "Leary, huh? Whereat is it? Never heard of the demesne."
"Not 'whereat', Lafayette corrected automatically. "Where is it? In the course of a lifetime you waste enough breath to deliver a three-hour speech, just putting in that redundant 'at'."
"Don't ast me whereat it is," Bother-Be-Damned returned defiantly. "It was .you brung it up. Me, I never hearn tell on it. Must be small potatoes." The matter thus disposed of, the duke turned away and resumed his march, not precisely toward the distant smoke, Lafayette noted as he followed. A hundred yards off to the left, Marv was standing, undecided, shading his eyes to watch Lafayette's progress. Then he shook his head, appeared to speak briefly into his clenched fist, and set off on an intercept course. Mickey Jo was nowhere in sight.
"By the way, Your Grace," Lafayette addressed his new acquaintance, "I'm looking for a gray room, very large, dim-lit, with a carpet and a bunch of big soft chairs. Do you happen to know of such a room?"
"Avaunt thee," Bother replied in a tone of dismissal. "I've rich chambers in plenty in my ducal seat, or anyways I did have before the tidal wave. Looks like it musta knocked it flat. Too bad."
"It would take a very large building to have a room of that size in it," Lafayette added hopefully.
"My castle is the largest in the province," the duke assured O'Leary. "Or was, since meseems tis gone, now."
"I have to find it," O'Leary went on. "You see, that's where this skunk named Frumpkin hangs out—and he's got Daphne."
"Unlucky in love, eh, lad?" Bother commented cheerfully. "Well, it's happened to doughtier fighters than you, Sir Lafayette; best to forget the baggage and find another."
"But she's my wife," Lafayette protested. "And I love her. I don't want some other baggage—and besides, she's not happy; I can tell, even though she said he treats her OK."
"Pity and all that," the duke said. "This Frumpkin, now, what sort of wight is he? Stout of arm and back, with a goodly company of men-at-arms about him?"
"Nothing like that," O'Leary corrected. "He's an ordinary-looking creep, and he's always alone, except when he's with Daphne—he calls her Dame Edith."
"Then trounce the rascal soundly, whip the wench for her impertinence, and proceed to matters of importance," Bother advised.
Slogging along at the heels of the duke, O'Leary half-listened as the nobleman recounted the multifarious deeds of infamy with which he, a humane and sensitive fellow, had been beset, most of which atrocities he laid at the doorstep of one Trog. "... or 'Lord Trog', as the upstart styles himself," Bother sneered.
"I've met him," O'Leary put in; "a runty little fellow, all whiskers and fleas, surrounded by cutthroats thirsting for an innocent victim to turn over to the PPS."