Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [117]
"That seems fair. Now, when you catch up with her, you're to tell her of my deep attachment, explain in detail my many sterling qualities, and in short, overwhelm her with the picture of the good fortune which has befallen her."
"Anything else?"
"Absolutely not!" Rodolpho looked sternly at a point to the right of O'Leary's ear. "I'll handle the courtship from that point on."
"All right, Rudy—I'll undertake this assignment. You did right to come to me."
"I knew I could count on you," the duke said brokenly. He rose and handed over a massive ring. "This signet will secure the cooperation of my staff." He held out his hand. "I'll never forget this, old man. You've given me new hope."
"Think nothing of it, Rudy. Now you'd better run along. I'm pooped. Got a big day tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?"
"Tuesday."
"Of course. And speaking of tomorrow, I may have a surprise in store for you. Don't tell anybody, but a little birdie told me a certain lady may be calling."
"Rudy! You lucky dog! Congratulations!"
"But don't bruit it about. Bad luck, you know. Well, I really must be going. Jolly evening and all that."
"Don't rush off. We were just getting started." Lafayette held up the half-full bottle and blinked at it. "Hardly touched it," he pointed out.
"I never go near alcohol," the duke said stiffly. "Rots the brain, I'm told. Good night, Lancelot." He tottered uncertainly to the door and out.
For a moment after Rodolpho had left, Lafayette stood swaying in the center of the room, which seemed to have developed a fairly rapid rotation. He made his way across to the bathroom, sluiced cold water over his face, toweled his head vigorously. In the duke's closet he found a capacious fleece-lined riding cloak. He helped himself to a handful of cigars from the ducal humidor, tucked a pair of riding gloves into his pocket, and let himself out into the corridor.
The head groom woke, knuckling his eyes as O'Leary demanded the best horse in the ducal stables. Five minutes later, reeling slightly in the saddle, O'Leary showed the ring at the gate. The guards grumbled but opened up for him. He cantered down through the dark street to the waterfront, used the ring to requisition the ducal barge, ignoring the bargeman's muttered complaints. An hour later, after a chilly crossing, with the first twinges of a hangover stabbing at his temples, he stepped ashore on the west bank of the lake. A narrow, rutted track led up from the jetty into the forest.
"Is that the way the Lady Andragorre's party went?" he inquired of the shivering boatman. "Up that cowpath?"
"Yeah—if you can call it a party, on a night like this." The man blew on his hands. "Snow'll fly before dawn, mark my words, squire."
"Swell," Lafayette said into his turned-up collar. "That's all I need to make this a perfect night." He set spurs to the horse and moved off into the blackness among the trees.
Six
For the next two hours Lafayette followed the winding trail steadily up among the giant trees, past looming boulders and small, rushing streams which spilled down over moss-grown rock formations. The marks of wheels were visible intermittently in the dust, overlain by the hoofprints of the escort. His head throbbed. The cold wind slashed at him through his cloak. As far as evidence to the contrary indicated, he was making no progress whatever.
"It's probably a wild-duck chase," he mumbled to himself. "I've done nothing but blunder from the beginning. First, by not insisting that that chap Pratwick put me through to his supervisor. But I was so rattled I hardly knew where I was—and still don't, for that matter. Melange. Who's ever heard of it? And Port Miasma: a pesthole if there ever was one . . ."
And he'd goofed again by getting mixed up with Swinehild. Strange, her looking so much like Adoranne. Poor kid, she'd been badly enough off before he arrived. He'd only been here twelve hours or so, and already he'd broken up a home. And then being idiot enough to fall afoul of the cops; and