Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [180]
Now a pair of purple-clad legs were visible. A long cloak swathed the knees and upper legs. There was a heavy gold chain at the waist. A pair of long-fingered, knuckly hands were folded on the broad chest. From them, rings winked in the gloom. A white beard appeared, clothing an age-lined but powerful chin. A great hawk nose came into view, closed eyes under bushy black eyebrows, a noble sweep of forehead, a purple velvet skullcap atop backswept white locks.
"Not Dracula after all," O'Leary managed. "It's Merlin . . ." He watched in total fascination as the sleeper's chest rose and fell. A finger stirred. The lips parted, uttered a sigh. The eyelids fluttered, opened. Lafayette stared into a pair of immense, violet-pale eyes which fixed on him in a piercing stare.
"I, ah, I'm sorry, sir," O'Leary said hastily. "I just happened along, and I, ah, accidentally seem to have, er, interfered with your arrangements. I hope I haven't caused you any serious inconvenience . . ." As he spoke he backed away, followed by those hypnotic eyes.
"I'll go for help," he said, edging toward the exit, "and before you know it . . ." His voice trailed off as the staring eyes bored fixedly into his. The old man sat up suddenly, an expression of ferocity contorting his noble features. He drew a deep breath, uttered a snorting roar, and lunged—
As if released from paralysis, O'Leary gained the entry in a bound, squeezed into the narrow passage, lost skin thrusting through the cleft. His foot trod air. He grabbed, slipped, yelled—
And was falling through space. For a long moment he was aware of the rush of wind, of the starry canopy wheeling above him—
Then a silent explosion filled the world with Roman candles.
3
How lovely, Lafayette thought dreamily, to be lying in a big, soft bed, warm and cozy and without a problem in the world.
Yes, indeed, a whispery voice said soothingly. Now, just relax and let your mind rove back over the events of the last few weeks. Back to your first meeting with him. That was . . . where—
With who? Lafayette inquired offhandedly. Or with whom? He wasn't greatly interested. It was so much nicer just to let it all slide away on a sea of black whipped cream . . .
Tell me! he voice persisted, more urgently. Where is he now? And where is it? Speak!
Sorry, Lafayette replied. I'm not in the mood for riddles right now. Why not go find someone else to play with? I just want to doze a little longer, and then Daphne will bring me a cup of coffee and tell me about all the nice things planned for the day, starting with breakfast on the balcony . . .
He paused for a moment in these pleasant reflections to wonder what day it was. Sunday? Possibly—but it didn't seem like Sunday, somehow. And there was something else nagging at the corner of his mind, now that he thought about it. Something he was supposed to do—
He tried to ignore the intruding thought and snuggle back into the dream; but the damage had been done. He was waking up in spite of himself, in spite of a subconscious instinct that told him that the longer he slept the better he'd like it . . .
He opened his eyes, was looking up at a canopy of what appeared to be woven grass and leaves.
"Ah, awake so soon?" a brisk, cheery voice inquired at close range. "What about a spot of breakfast, then?"
Lafayette turned his head; a round, wizened face beamed down at him.
"Who—" Lafayette croaked, and cleared his throat, occasioning a sharp throb at the back of his skull. "Who are you?"
"I? Well, as to that—you may call me Lom. Quite. Good a name as any, what? And what do you say to Bavarian ham, eggs Benedict, oatmeal bread—lightly toasted—with unsalted Danish butter and a spot of lime marmalade; and coffee, of course. It's New Orleans style: I hope you don't mind a bit of chicory?"
"Don't tell me," Lafayette whispered, salivating profusely. "I've died and gone to wherever well-intentioned sinners go."
"Not at all, my dear sir." Lafayette's host chuckled gently. "You've