Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [170]
But of course he wasn't wearing a sword, he realized as his fingers closed on nothing. Hadn't worn one in years, except on gala occasions, and then just a light, bejeweled model that was strictly for show. But then, he hadn't been out in the midnight streets alone for quite a while. And it had never occurred to him tonight to do anything as melodramatic as buckling on the worn blade he'd used in the old days . . .
As he hastily tucked the Mark III away out of sight, three men emerged from the alley mouth, all in floppy feathered hats, green-and-yellow-striped jackets—Adoranne's colors—wide scarlet sashes, baggy pants above carelessly rolled boots: The Royal City Guard.
"Oh, boy, am I glad to see you fellows," Lafayette greeted the trio. "I thought you were footpads or worse. Look, I need an escort back to the palace, and—"
"Stay, rogue!" the leading musketeer barked. "Up against the wall!"
"Turn around and put your hands against it, over your head, you know the routine!" a second guardsman commanded, hand on épée hilt.
"This is no time for jokes," O'Leary announced in some asperity. "I've got some hot cargo for the royal vault—high-priority stuff. Shorty"—he addressed the smallest of the trio, a plump sergeant with fiercely curled mustachios—"you lead the way, and you other two chaps fall in behind—"
"Don't go calling me by my nickname!" the short cop roared, whipping out his blade. "And we ain't no chaps!"
"What's got into you, Shorty?" Lafayette demanded in astonishment. "You're not mad because I won two-fifty from you playing at skittles the other night—"
The sword leaped to prick his throat. "Jest you button the lip, Clyde, 'fore I pin you to the wall!" Shorty motioned curtly. "You boys frisk him. I got a funny feeling this bozo here's more'n a routine vagrant."
"Are you all out of your minds?" O'Leary yelled as the guardsmen flung him roughly against the wall, began patting his pockets none too gently. "Shorty, do you really mean you don't recognize me?"
"Hey—hold it, boys," Shorty said. "Uh—turn around, you," he addressed Lafayette in a more uncertain tone. "You claim I know you, hah?" He frowned at him searchingly. "Well, maybe you went downhill since I seen you last . . . but I wouldn't want to turn my back on an old pal. What was the name again?"
"O'Leary!" Lafayette yelled. "Lafayette O'Leary. Sir Lafayette O'Leary, if you want to get technical!"
"OK," Shorty rasped with a return to his gravelly voice. "You picked the wrong pigeon! It just so happens that me and Sir Lafayette are just like that!" He held up two fingers, close together, to indicate the intimacy of the relationship. "Why, on his first night in town, five years ago, Sir Lafayette done me a favor which I'll never forget it—me and Gertrude neither!"
"Right!" Lafayette cried. "That was just before I went all wivery and almost disappeared back to Mrs. McGlint's—and as a favor to you boys, I stuck around, just so you wouldn't have anything inexplicable to explain to the desk sergeant, right?"
"Hey," one of the troopers said. "Lookit what I found, Sarge!" He held up a fat gold watch, shaped like a yellow turnip.
"W-where did that come from?" Lafayette faltered.
"And how about this?" A second man produced a jeweled pendant from O'Leary's other pocket. "And this!" He displayed a silver inlaid Elk's tooth, an ornate snuffbox with a diamond-studded crest, a fistful of lesser baubles. "Looks like your old pal has been working, Sarge!"
"I've been framed!" Lafayette cried. "Somebody planted that stuff on me!"
"That cuts it," the NCO snarled. "Try to make a monkey out o' me, will you? You'll be on maggoty bread and green water for thirty days before your trial even comes up, wittold!"
"Let's just go back to the palace," Lafayette shouted. "We'll ask Daphne—Countess Daphne, to you, you moron—she'll confirm what I say! And after this is straightened out—"
"Put the cuffs on him, Fred,"