Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [91]
"Yes," Lafayette blurted. "That is, no—not exactly. You see—"
"Now, this situation requires that you abandon your interim identity at once and commence to operate underground, posing as an inmate of a maximum-security penal camp, doing ninety-nine years for aggravated mopery. Got it?"
"Look, Mr. Pratwick, you don't quite grasp the situation," O'Leary broke in hastily. "At the moment, I'm perched in a windmill—which seems to be all that's left of the royal palace—"
"Now, you'll report at once to the Undercover station located at the intersection of the palace sanitary main and the central municipal outflow, twelve feet under the Royal sewage-processing plant, two miles north of town. Is that clear? You'll be in disguise, of course: rags, fleas, that sort of thing. Our man there will smuggle you into the labor camp, after fitting you out with the necessary artificial calluses, manacles, and simulated scurvy sores—"
"Hold on!" Lafayette cried. "I can't undertake an undercover assignment in Artesia!"
"Why not?" The voice sounded surprised.
"Because I'm not in Artesia, confound it! I've been trying to tell you! I'm hanging on for dear life, a hundred feet above a wasteland! I mean, I was just strolling in the garden, and all of a sudden the bench disappeared, and then the rest of the garden, and—"
"You say you're not in Artesia?"
"Why don't you listen! Something terrible has happened—"
"Kindly answer yes or no," the sharp voice snapped. "Maybe you don't know there's an emergency on that could affect the entire continuum, including Artesia!"
"That's just the point!" O'Leary howled. "No! I'm NOT in Artesia—"
"Oops," the voice said briskly. "In that case, excuse the call—"
"Pratwick! Don't hang up!" O'Leary yelled. "You're my sole link with everything! I've got to have help! They're all gone, understand? Daphne, Adoranne, everybody! The palace, the town, the whole kingdom, for all I know—"
"Look here, fellow, suppose I put you on to Lost and Found, and—"
"You look! I helped you out once! Now it's your turn! Get me out of this fix and back to Artesia!"
"Out of the question," the crackly voice rapped. "We're only handling priority-nine items tonight, and you rate a weak three. Now—"
"You can't just abandon me here! Where's Nicodaeus? He'll tell you—"
"Nicodaeus was transferred to Locus Beta Two-oh, with the cover identity of a Capuchin monk engaged in alchemical research. He'll be out of circulation for the next twenty-eight years, give or take six months."
Lafayette groaned. "Can't you do anything?"
"Well—look here, O'Leary: I've just leafed through your record. It seems you're on the books for unauthorized use of Psychical Energies, up until we focused a Suppressor on you. Still, I see you did render valuable services, once upon a time. Now, I have no authority to lift the Suppressor, but just between the two of us—off the record, mind you—I can drop you a hint which may help you to help yourself. But don't let on I told you."
"Well—go ahead and drop it!"
"Ah—let's see: O.K., here goes: Mid knackwurst and pig's knuckles tho you may grope/There's only one kind that's tough as a rope/The favorite of millions from the Bronx to Miami/The key to the riddle it—Oh-oh, that's it, O'Leary. Chief Inspector's coming! Got to go! Good luck! Let us hear from you—if you survive, that is!"
"Wait a minute! You didn't say what the key to the riddle was!" Lafayette rattled the hook madly, but only the derisive buzz of the dial tone answered him. Then, with a sputter, the phone went dead. Lafayette groaned and hung up the receiver.
"Pig's knuckles," he muttered. "Knackwurst. That's all the thanks I get for all these years of loyal service, pretending to be totally absorbed in living with Daphne and wining and dining and riding to hounds, all the while holding myself in readiness for instant action, any time that infernal phone rang . . ."
He drew a deep breath and blinked.
"You're talking nonsense again, O'Leary,"