Free The World Shuffler by Keith Laumer

in the bushes together!”
    “Er, yes.” Lafayette edged away from the warm body beside him. “But right now we have to give some thought to our next move. I can’t show my face around this place; either they’ve mistaken me for someone else, or those sailors we ditched are the world’s fastest swimmers.”
    “We never did get nothing to eat,” Swinehild said. “Or did they feed you in jail?”
    “It must have been the caterer’s day off,”
    O’Leary said sadly. “I’d even welcome another slice of that leatherwurst we had in our lunch basket.”
    “You peeked,” Swinehild said, and produced the sausage from a capacious reticule, along with the paring knife and the villainous-looking vintage Lafayette had last seen sliding about the bilge of the sailboat.
    “Clever girl,” Lafayette breathed. He used the knife to cut thick slices of the garlicky sausage, halved the apple, and dug the cork from the bottle.
    “Nothing like a picnic under the stars,” he said, chewing doggedly at the tough meat.
    “Gee, this is the kind o’ life I always pictured,” Swinehild said, closing the distance between them and sliding her hand inside his shirt. “On the loose in the big town, meeting interesting people, seeing the sights ...”
    “A tour of the local dungeons isn’t my idea of high living,” Lafayette objected. “We can’t stay here under this bush; it’ll be dawn soon. Our best bet is to try to make it back down to the wharf and sneak aboard our boat, if it’s still there.”
    “You mean you want to leave Port Miasma already? But we ain’t even been through the wax museum yet!”
    “A regrettable omission; but in view of the habit of the local cops to hang first and look at ID’s later, I think I’ll have to try to survive without it.”
    “Well—I guess you got a point there, Lafe. But I heard they got a statue o’ Pavingale slaying the gore-worm that’s so lifelike you could swear you heard the blood drip.”
    “It’s tempting,” O’Leary conceded, “but not quite as tempting as staying alive.”
    “Hulk ain’t going to be glad to see us back,” Swinehild predicted.
    “You don’t have to go,” Lafayette said. “You seem to manage quite well here. I’m the one they want to hang on sight. Anyway, I have no intention of going back. What’s on the other side of the lake?”
    “Nothing much. Wastelands, the Chantspel Mountains, a bunch o’ wild men, the Endless Forest, monsters. And the Glass Tree. You know.”
    “How about cities?”
    “They say the Erl-king’s got some kind o’ layout under the mountains. Why?”
    “I won’t find the kind of help I need in an underground burrow,” Lafayette said doubtfully. “Central wouldn’t bother posting a representative anywhere but in a large population center.”
    “Then I guess you’re stuck, Lafe. Port Miasma’s the only town in this part o’ Melange, as far as I know.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Lafayette scoffed. “There has to be more than one city.”
    “Why?”
    “Well—now that you mention it, I guess there doesn’t.” He sighed. “And I suppose that means I have to stay and make another try to see the duke. What I need is a disguise: different clothes, a false beard, maybe an eye patch ...”
    “Too bad I didn’t pick up a soldier’s uniform for you while I had the chance,” Swinehild said. “There it was, laying right there on the chair ...”
    “All I need is something to get me through the gate. Once I gained the duke’s ear and explained how vital it is I get back to Artesia, my troubles would be over.”
    “Better take it slow, Lafe. I hear Rodolpho’s kind of careful who gets near him these days, ever since some intruder hit him over the head with a chair while he was sitting in it.”
    “I’ll deal with that problem when I get to it,” O’Leary said. “But this is all just a lot of air castles. Without a disguise, it’s hopeless.” He pared another slice from the sausage, chewed at it