Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [114]
"Well, ah, of course I want to be reasonable," Lafayette ad-libbed desperately. "But a torture chamber is hardly the proper surroundings for a heart-to-heart."
The duke grunted. He turned and yelled for Groanwelt.
"See that this nobleman is released, washed, fed, garbed as befits his station, and brought to my apartment in half an hour," he commanded. He gave O'Leary a sharp look. "No disappearing until then, Lancelot," he said gruffly, and stalked from the room.
"Well, that's the breaks," Groanwelt said philosophically as he unlocked the door. "Looks like we don't get together on a professional basis tonight after all. But it was swell meeting you anyway, kid. Maybe some other time."
"I wouldn't doubt it," Lafayette said. "Say, Groanwelt, what do you know about this, er, Lady Andragorre?"
"Nothing special. Just that she's the richest, most beautiful dame in Melange, is all, which the duke is carrying a torch the size of the Chicago fire for her."
"You know about the Chicago fire?"
"Sure. A beer joint. Burned down last week. Why?"
"Never mind. You were saying?"
"Too bad fer his Grace, he'll never get to first base wit' her Ladyship."
"Why not?"
Groanwelt leered and lowered his voice. "On account of there's another guy, natch. It's the talk of the locker rooms."
"Another guy?" Lafayette felt his heart lurch violently under his sternum.
Groanwelt dug an elbow into Lafayette's ribs. "Duke Rodolpho don't know it, but he's playing second fiddle to a rogue name of Lorenzo the Lanky—or is it Lancelot the Lucky?"
"Lorenzo the Lanky?" Lafayette croaked as Groanwelt struck off his gyves.
"As a matter of fact," the P.P.S. said in the tone of one who imparts a confidence, "right now milady is officially on her way to visit her old-maid aunt and twelve cats. But between you and me, the word is she's headed for a hunting lodge in the Chantspels for a trial honeymoon wit' the lucky geezer."
"T-trial honeymoon?"
"Yep. Now, let's go turn you over to the chamberlain, which he'll doll you up in shape for yer audience wit' his Grace."
Duke Rodolpho was sitting in a big soft-leather wing chair when Lafayette was shown in, clean and fragrant and dressed in a fresh outfit of spangled silk which almost fit.
"Sit down, Lancelot," the duke ordered with an air of forced cordiality. "Drink? Cigar?" He waved a hand, which took in a deep easy chair, a low table with a decanter and glasses, and a humidor.
"Thanks." Lafayette flopped gratefully, then yawned earcrackingly. "Sorry. I'm up past my bedtime. By the way, my name's Lafayette."
"You dined adequately?"
"As adequately as you can while six handmaidens are scrubbing your back, putting Band-Aids on your hurties, and massaging your bruises. Not that I didn't appreciate the attention."
"Excellent. Now let's not beat around the cactus bed, Lancelot. Just what is your, ah, connection with the Lady Andragorre?" The duke nipped at a hangnail, eyeing Lafayette sharply.
"My connection with the Lady Andragorre," Lafayette temporized. "Well, ah, as to that—the fact is, I'm her husband."
The duke's face went rigid. "Her husband?" His voice cracked like a snapped neck.
"Her estranged husband," O'Leary amended hurriedly. "As a matter of fact, we're practically strangers."
"I had never heard that milady had been married," Rodolpho said in a dangerous tone. He reached to pour himself a stiff jolt of brandy, tossed it back in a gulp. "Much less divorced."
"She's a charming girl," Lafayette hurried on. "Full of fun, lighthearted—"
"You may skip over the intimate revelations," Rodolpho snapped. He chewed his lip. "Perhaps this explains Captain Ritzpaugh's report that you attempted to speak to her in the street and were repulsed with a riding crop."
"He's a"—Lafayette started—"a very perceptive fellow," he finished.