Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [160]
"The poor idiot!" Lafayette groaned. "He'll be torn to bits—and without helping Daphne—I mean Beverly—I mean Cynthia—or Lady Andragorre at all!" He craned, caught a glimpse of the surging crowd, the red-uniformed men moving among the gowns and cravats, of Lorenzo, charging through—
At the last moment, Goruble turned—in time to receive a jolting roundhouse punch in the right eye. As the assaulted prince staggered back, large uniforms loomed, closed in on Lorenzo.
"That did it," Lafayette muttered. "But at least he landed one good one . . ." He leaned for another look.
"So," Goruble was roaring, dabbing at his injured eye with a large lace-edged hanky, "it's you, is it, Lorenzo? I have plans for you, lad! Gorog's been fed once this evening, but he'll savor another snack, no doubt! And before you die, you'll have the pleasure of witnessing my union with the lady whom you've had the audacity to molest with your unwanted attentions!"
"M-M-Milady Andragorre," the shaken voice of a palace footman announced in the sudden hush. The crowd parted. A dark-haired, dark-eyed vision of loveliness appeared, clad in bridal white, accompanied by a pair of angular females in bridesmaid's costume which failed to conceal their police-matronly physiques.
"On with the ceremony," Goruble shouted, all pretense of courtliness gone now. "Tonight, my nuptials; tomorrow, the conquest of the known universe!"
Lafayette clung to the wall, shivering violently as the icy wind whipped at his shirt. His hands were as numb as grappling hooks, though far less secure. His toes felt like frozen shrimp. Any moment now, his clutch would fail, and down he would go, into the depths below. He pressed his chin against the cold stone, listening to the droning voice of the ecclesiastic beyond the window, intoning the marriage ceremony.
"Why did it have to end like this?" he muttered. "Why did I have to get mixed up in it in the first place? Why didn't Pratwick help me instead of torturing me with that idiotic jingle—that meaningless rhyme that doesn't rhyme? " . . . the favorite of millions from the Bronx to Miami The key to the riddle is . . . what? What rhymes with 'Miami'? 'Mammy'? 'Bon Ami'? 'Clammy'? The favorite of millions from the Bronx to Miami—the key to the riddle is . . . is . . ."
There was a sudden outburst inside: "Beverly—tell him no! Even if he does promise to slit my throat if you don't go through with it!" Lorenzo's shout was cut off by a meaty smack followed by a thud.
"He's merely stunned, my dear," Goruble said unctuously. "Carry on, you!"
"D-do you . . . Lady Andragorre . . . take this . . . this Prince . . ."
"No," Lafayette moaned. "This is too terrible. It couldn't be happening! Total, utter failure—and I've always been such a lucky fellow—like finding the door in the cliff when I needed it, and the Mad Monk costume, and . . . and . . ." He froze, groping for a ghostly idea floating just beyond his grasp.
"Think," he commanded himself. "Luck, I've been calling it. But that's fantastic. You don't have that kind of luck. That's the kind of thing that happens when you manipulate the probability fabric. So—the conclusion is that you were manipulating the cosmic energies. It worked—those times. But other times it didn't. But what was the difference? What did those occasions have in common that was lacking when I tried and failed?"
"Smelling salts," Goruble was bellowing from inside. "The poor creature's fainted, no doubt from the sheer thrill of her good fortune . . ."
"Nothing," Lafayette groaned. "I can't think of a thing. All I can think of is poor Daphne, and Swinehild, a sweet kid even if she did smell like garlic . . ."
Garlic . . .
"Garlic's always been associated with thaumaturgy and spells," Lafayette babbled, grasping at straws. "And spells are just amateur efforts to manipulate the cosmic energies! Could it be garlic? Or maybe Swinehild herself—but 'Swinehild' doesn't rhyme with 'Miami.' Neither does 'garlic.' Anyway, she only smelled like garlic because she was always making