Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [219]
"Just as I told the gendarmes—the tower—up there." Lafayette pointed to a lofty spire soaring high in the blue sky, a pennant snapping from the flagstaff at its peak.
"Whatever for?" Lom gasped. "We'll be trapped!"
"Classified," Lafayette said.
"Hey," Clarence spoke suddenly in a hoarse whisper. "Hows come we're whispering?"
"It's a secret mission," O'Leary replied. "We're counting on you, Clarence."
"Oh, boy," Clarence said happily. Lom snorted.
Lafayette led the way into the palace proper via a side door—the same door through which he had left that night—only two weeks before, but seeming like a lifetime—for his ill-fated rendezvous with the Red Bull. Inside, he motioned Lom and Clarence along a narrow corridor that passed behind the State Dining Room. Through a half-open door he saw the long tables spread with dazzling linen, adorned with colorful floral centerpieces—a glimpse of another life.
"Looks like they're making ready for a celebration," Lom observed.
"Yeah," Clarence nodded vigorously. "A big blowout scheduled fer tonight. Duh woid is, duh king, he's gonna make a speech, which all duh notables dey'll be dere."
"Keep moving!" Lom hissed. "We'll be seen—and I doubt if the household major domos will be as readily satisfied with explanations involving medical ministrations to sick pipes as those flatfoots!"
"Hey—dat sounded like it could grow up tuh be a doity crack at us cops," Clarence muttered.
"No offense," Lom reassured him.
They resumed their cautious progress, paused at a brocaded hanging through which Lafayette poked his head to survey the mirrored grand hall. "Come on—the coast is clear."
"Where is everybody?" Lom queried. "The place is like a mausoleum."
"Never mind questioning our good fortune. Let's just take advantage of it."
They reached the back stairs without incident. On the second floor, they passed a red-eyed maid-servant with a mop and bucket, who gave them a tearful look and hurried on. Three flights higher a guard lounged on the landing, reading a newspaper with the aid of a blunt forefinger.
"Whazzis?" he inquired, looking suspiciously at the two adventurers. "Who's these mugs, Clarence?"
"Dat's uh like secret," Clarence whispered. "Shhhh."
"Special mission," O'Leary amplified, "under the personal supervision of Sir Lafayette—"
"You mean King Lafayette, don't you, pal?"
"Right. Now his Majesty has his eye on you, corporal—"
"Corporal, my grandma's pickled bananas," the fellow growled. "I been in this outfit nine years and I ain't got stripe one yet."
"You'll have two, as soon as this job is over," O'Leary said. "I personally guarantee it."
"Yeah? Whom did you say you was, sir?"
"A . . . a person in whom his Majesty resides special confidence."
"And where do you think you're going?" the guard inquired as O'Leary started past him.
"Up there," O'Leary pointed.
"Uh-uh," the man planted himself in Lafayette's path. "Not without a OK from the sergeant, chum."
"Don't you think a king outweighs a sergeant, corporal?"
"Could be—but I work for the sergeant. He works for the lieutenant; he works for the captain; he works for the colonel—"
"I'm familiar with the intricacies of the military hierarchy," O'Leary snapped. "But we don't have time to waste right now going through channels."
"Nobody goes up without a pass," the guard said.
"Will this do?" Lom inquired at O'Leary's elbow. There was a soft bzapp! The unfortunate sentry stiffened, staggered two steps, and fell heavily on the purple carpet.
"Tsk. Drunk on duty," Lafayette said. "Make a note of that, Clarence."
They hurried on, Lom puffing hard, Clarence bringing up the rear, around and around the winding staircase. The steps narrowed, steepened between bare stone walls. The climb ended on a small landing before a massive wood-plank door.
"Wh-what's this?" Lom panted.
"This is as far as we go—without an understanding," O'Leary said. "Note the lock on the door. I know the combination. You don't."
"So?"
"Give me that trick ball-point, and I'll unlock it."
"Not