Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [171]
"Oh, no," Lafayette said, half to himself. "This isn't going to turn into one of those idiotic farces where everything goes from bad to worse just because no one has sense enough to explain matters. All I have to do is just speak calmly and firmly to these perfectly reasonable officers of the law, and—"
From the nearby alley there was a sudden rasp of shoe leather on cobbles. Shorty whirled, grabbing for his sword-hilt as dark figures loomed. There was a dull thunk! as of a ball bat striking a saddle; the stubby sergeant's feathered hat fell off, as its owner stumbled backward and went down. Even as their blades cleared their scabbards, the other three musketeers received matching blows to the skull. They collapsed in a flutter of plumes, a flapping of silk, a clatter of steel. Three tall, dark men in the jeweled leathers and gaudy silks of a Wayfarers Tribe closed in about Lafayette.
"Let's get going, Zorro," one of them whispered in a voice that was obviously the product of damaged vocal chords, substantiating the testimony of the welted scar across his brown throat, only partially concealed by a greasy scarf knotted there. A second member of the band—a one-eyed villain with a massive gold earring—was swiftly going through the pockets of the felled policemen.
"Hey—wait just a minute," O'Leary blurted, in confusion. "What's going on here? Who are you? Why did you slug the cops? What—"
"Losing your greep, Zorro?" the leader cut him off brusquely. "You could have knocked me over weeth a feather wheen I see you in the clutches of the Roumi dogs." He stooped, with a quick slash of a foot-long knife freed a dagger in an ornately worked sheath from the belt of the nearest musketeer. "Queek, compadres," he rasped. "Someone's coming theese way." He caught O'Leary's arm, began hauling him toward the alley mouth from which the raiders had pounced.
"Hold on, fellows!" Lafayette protested. "Look, I appreciate the gesture and all that, but it isn't necessary. I'll just turn myself in and make a clean breast of it, explain that it was all a general misunderstanding, and—"
"Poor Zorro, a blow on the head has meexed up his weets, Luppo," a short, swarthy man with a full beard grunted.
"Don't you understand?" Lafayette yelped sharply as he was hustled along the alley. "I want to go to court! You're just making it worse! And stop calling me Zorro! My name's O'Leary!"
The leader of the band swung Lafayette around to glare down into his face from a height of close to seven feet of leather, bone and muscle. "Worse? What does theese mean, Zorro? That you deedn't come through on your beeg brag, eh?" He gave O'Leary a bone-rattling shake. "And so you theenk instead of facing up to King Shosto, you'll do a leetle time in the Roumi breeg, ees that eet?"
"No, you big ape!" Lafayette yelled, and landed a solid kick to the bulky Wayfarer's shin. As the victim yelled and bent to massage the injury, Lafayette jerked free, whirled—and was facing half a dozen bowie knives gripped in as many large, brown fists.
"Look, fellows, let's talk it over," Lafayette started. At that moment, there was a yell from the street where they had left the three musketeers. Lafayette opened his mouth to respond, caught only a glimpse of a cloak as it whirled at his head; then he was muffled in its sour-smelling folds, lifted from his feet, slung over a bony shoulder, and carried, jolting, from the scene.
Chapter Two
1
Bundled in the reeking cloak and trussed with ropes, Lafayette lay in what he deduced to be the bed of a wagon, judging from the sounds and odors of horse, the rumble of unshod wheels on cobbles, and the creak of harness. His attempts to shout for air had netted him painful blows, after which he had subsided and concentrated his efforts on avoiding suffocation. Now he lay quietly, his bruises throbbing with every jolt of the cumbersome vehicle.
At length the sound of cobbles gave way to the softer texture of an unpaved surface. Leather groaned as the wagon bed took on a tilt that