Free The World Shuffler by Keith Laumer Page B

to meet his doxy. That get-up’s better’n a soldier suit.”
    “Could it have been just coincidence?” O’Leary muttered as he tucked the pillow inside his belt, pulled on the robe, donned the wig and the nose. Swinehild snickered.
    “How do I look?” He rotated before her.
    “You look like one o’ them strolling minstrels—the Spots Brothers, the smart one— Grumpo.”
    “Well, it will have to do.”
    “Sure; it’s swell. Listen, Lafe: forget about seeing the duke. You can make like a strolling minstrel yourself. We’ll find us a snug garret someplace and fix it up with curtains on the windows and a pot o’ pinks, and—”
    “Don’t talk nonsense, Swinehild,” Lafayette reproved her. “Duke Rodolpho’s my only hope of getting out of this miserable place.”
    Swinehild caught at his hand. “Lafe—don’t go back to the palace. If they catch you again, this time it’ll be zzz t! for sure. Can’t you just settle down here and be happy?”
    “Happy? You think I enjoy being hit on the head and thrown in jail and hiding in the bushes?”
    “I’ll ... I’ll hide with you, Lafe.”
    “There, there, Swinehild, you’re a nice girl and I appreciate all your help, but it’s out of the question. I have a wife waiting for me, remember?”
    “Yeah—but she’s there—and I’m here.”
    He patted her hand. “Swinehild, you run along and pursue your career. I’m sure you’re going to be a great success in the big city. As for me, I have more serious business to attend to—alone. Goodbye and good luck.”
    “D-don’t you want to take the lunch?” She offered the bottle and what was left of the sausage.
    “In case you wind up back in the pokey?”
    “Thanks—you keep it. I don’t intend to eat again until I’m dining in style ...”
    There was a clip-clop of hooves on the street beyond the hedge. Lafayette ducked to the nearest gap and peered through. A party of mounted cuirassiers in lemon-colored coats and plumed helmets was cantering toward him, followed by a matched pair of gleaming black horses with silver-mounted harness drawing a gilt-and-pink coach.
    At the open window of the vehicle, Lafayette glimpsed a gloved feminine hand, a sleeve of pale-blue velvet. A face leaned forward in profile, then turned toward him ...
    “Daphne!” he yelled. The coachman flicked his whip out over the horses; the coach rattled past, gaining speed. Lafayette burst through the hedge and dashed after it, raced alongside. The passenger stared down at him with a wide-eyed look of astonishment.
    “Daphne!” O’Leary gasped, grabbing for the door handle. “It is you! Stop! Wait!”
    There was a roar from the nearest of the escort; hooves clashed and thundered. A trooper galloped up beside him; Lafayette saw a saber descending in time to duck, trip over a loose cobblestone, and skid two yards on his jaw. He pried his face from the street and saw the coach bowling away across the plaza before his view was cut off by the legs of the prancing horses that had surrounded him. He looked up into the fiercely mustachioed face of the captain of the escort.
    “Throw this miserable bum in the dungeons!” he bellowed. “Truss, him in chains! Stretch him on the rack! But don’t spoil him! The Lady Andragorre will doubtless want to witness his death throes personally!”
    “Daphne,” Lafayette mumbled brokenly as a trooper prodded him to his feet with a lance. “And she didn’t even look back ...”

Five
    Lafayette’s new cell was somewhat less luxurious than the first he had occupied, featuring a damp floor the size of a card table and a set of leg irons which had been riveted to his ankles, not without occasioning a few bruises. Beyond the bars, a big-armed man in ominous black leathers whistled with more cheer than tune, poking up a merry blaze on a small grate beside which hung an array of curiously shaped tongs, pincers and oversized nutcrackers. To the right of the fireplace was a metal rack resembling an