The Universe Twister by Keith Laumer, edited by Eric Flint
Authors: Keith Laumer, edited by Eric Flint
Tags: Science-Fiction
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"Your Highness!" The man stepped to the bed and upended the contents of the pouch on the rosebud adorned coverlet—a sparkling array of rings, necklaces, bracelets, glinting red, green, diamond-white in the candle light.
The fat woman gasped. "Your Highness' jewels!" Lafayette made a move, felt the pike dig into his chest hard enough to draw blood. "Somebody shoved that into my hands," he called. "I was in the dark, in the passage, and—"
"Enough, thief!" the pike wielder snarled. "Move along now, you! I need little excuse to spit your gizzard!"
"Look, Adoranne, I was trying to help! He told me—"
"Who? Have you an accomplice in your felony?" The guard jabbed again to emphasize the question.
"No! I mean there was a man—a medium-sized man in a cloak; he came into my room—"
"How came the rogue here?" the fat woman shrilled. "Did you great louts sleep at your posts of duty?"
"I came in through some kind of sliding panel," O'Leary turned to the princess. "It's right over there. It closed up behind me, and—"
Adoranne's chin went up; she gave him a look of haughty contempt and turned away.
"I thank you, Martha," she said coolly to the fat lady-in-waiting. "And you, gentlemen, for your vigilance in my defenses. Leave me now."
"But, your Highness—" the fat woman started.
"Leave me!"
"Adoranne, if you'd just—" A painful prod in the solar plexus doubled O'Leary over. The pikemen caught his arms and hauled him from the room.
"Wait!" he managed. "Listen!"
"Tomorrow you can tell it to the headsman," the guard growled. "Another word outta you and by the three tails o'Goop I'll spare the crown the expense of an execution!"
In the corridor, Lafayette, still gasping, fixed his eye on the intersection ahead. Just around the corner , he improvised. There's a . . . a policeman. He'll arrest these two .
The pikemen shoved him roughly past the turn; the corridor was empty of cops. Too bad. Must be a spot he'd already seen and thus couldn't change. But that door just ahead: it would open, and a python would come slithering out, and in the confusion —
"Keep moving, you!" the pikeman pushed him roughly past the door, which failed to disgorge a snake.
A gun, then, in his hip pocket —
He reached, found nothing. He should have known that one wouldn't work; he had just put the trousers on a few minutes earlier, and there had been no armaments bagging the pockets then—beside which, how could he concentrate with these two plug-uglies hauling at him? A sharp jerk at his arm directed him down another side way. He stumbled on, assisted by frequent jabs and blows, down stairs and more stairs, into a dim malodorous passage between damp stone walls, past an iron gate into a low chamber lit by smoking flambeaux in black iron brackets. He leaned against a wall, trying to decide which of his bruises hurt worst, while his pike-wielding acquaintance explained his case in a few terse words to an untrimmed lout with thick lips, pale stubble and pimples.
"One o' them guys, huh?" The turnkey nodded knowingly. "I know how to handle them kind."
"Wait . . . till I get my breath," O'Leary said. "I'll . . . visit you . . . with a plague of boils . . ."
A blow slammed him toward a barred gate. Hard hands hustled him through to a moldy oak-plank door. Keys jangled. The blond jailer cuffed him aside and hauled the door open with a rasp of dry hinges. O'Leary caught a glimpse of a stone floor and a litter of rubbish.
Damn! If he'd just thought to picture something a trifle cozier, before he saw it.
"Kind of crummy quarters fer a dude like youse, Buster," the turnkey leered. "You got straw, but I'll give ye a clue: Use the bare floor instead. We got a few fleas and stuff, you know?" Then a foot in the seat sent O'Leary spinning inside and the door thudded behind him.
Chapter VI
O'Leary sat on the floor, blinking into total blackness. Some day he'd have to read up on Freudian dream symbolism. All this business of
"Your Highness!" The man stepped to the bed and upended the contents of the pouch on the rosebud adorned coverlet—a sparkling array of rings, necklaces, bracelets, glinting red, green, diamond-white in the candle light.
The fat woman gasped. "Your Highness' jewels!" Lafayette made a move, felt the pike dig into his chest hard enough to draw blood. "Somebody shoved that into my hands," he called. "I was in the dark, in the passage, and—"
"Enough, thief!" the pike wielder snarled. "Move along now, you! I need little excuse to spit your gizzard!"
"Look, Adoranne, I was trying to help! He told me—"
"Who? Have you an accomplice in your felony?" The guard jabbed again to emphasize the question.
"No! I mean there was a man—a medium-sized man in a cloak; he came into my room—"
"How came the rogue here?" the fat woman shrilled. "Did you great louts sleep at your posts of duty?"
"I came in through some kind of sliding panel," O'Leary turned to the princess. "It's right over there. It closed up behind me, and—"
Adoranne's chin went up; she gave him a look of haughty contempt and turned away.
"I thank you, Martha," she said coolly to the fat lady-in-waiting. "And you, gentlemen, for your vigilance in my defenses. Leave me now."
"But, your Highness—" the fat woman started.
"Leave me!"
"Adoranne, if you'd just—" A painful prod in the solar plexus doubled O'Leary over. The pikemen caught his arms and hauled him from the room.
"Wait!" he managed. "Listen!"
"Tomorrow you can tell it to the headsman," the guard growled. "Another word outta you and by the three tails o'Goop I'll spare the crown the expense of an execution!"
In the corridor, Lafayette, still gasping, fixed his eye on the intersection ahead. Just around the corner , he improvised. There's a . . . a policeman. He'll arrest these two .
The pikemen shoved him roughly past the turn; the corridor was empty of cops. Too bad. Must be a spot he'd already seen and thus couldn't change. But that door just ahead: it would open, and a python would come slithering out, and in the confusion —
"Keep moving, you!" the pikeman pushed him roughly past the door, which failed to disgorge a snake.
A gun, then, in his hip pocket —
He reached, found nothing. He should have known that one wouldn't work; he had just put the trousers on a few minutes earlier, and there had been no armaments bagging the pockets then—beside which, how could he concentrate with these two plug-uglies hauling at him? A sharp jerk at his arm directed him down another side way. He stumbled on, assisted by frequent jabs and blows, down stairs and more stairs, into a dim malodorous passage between damp stone walls, past an iron gate into a low chamber lit by smoking flambeaux in black iron brackets. He leaned against a wall, trying to decide which of his bruises hurt worst, while his pike-wielding acquaintance explained his case in a few terse words to an untrimmed lout with thick lips, pale stubble and pimples.
"One o' them guys, huh?" The turnkey nodded knowingly. "I know how to handle them kind."
"Wait . . . till I get my breath," O'Leary said. "I'll . . . visit you . . . with a plague of boils . . ."
A blow slammed him toward a barred gate. Hard hands hustled him through to a moldy oak-plank door. Keys jangled. The blond jailer cuffed him aside and hauled the door open with a rasp of dry hinges. O'Leary caught a glimpse of a stone floor and a litter of rubbish.
Damn! If he'd just thought to picture something a trifle cozier, before he saw it.
"Kind of crummy quarters fer a dude like youse, Buster," the turnkey leered. "You got straw, but I'll give ye a clue: Use the bare floor instead. We got a few fleas and stuff, you know?" Then a foot in the seat sent O'Leary spinning inside and the door thudded behind him.
Chapter VI
O'Leary sat on the floor, blinking into total blackness. Some day he'd have to read up on Freudian dream symbolism. All this business of
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